What would happen if we kissed?
by Inanna
Summary: Dorothy with ??? A multipart drama/romance songfic idea I got after reading NemKess'
1. What Would Happen if We Kissed?

What would happen if we kissed?  
  
I do not own Gundam Wing.  
  
What would happen if we kissed? By Meredith Brooks. Off her "Blurring the Edges"   
cd. Capitol Records. 1997.  
  
  
Author's note:  
  
This was actually an idea I got from reading Nemkess' "Where have all the Cowboys   
gone?" songfic. I thought, boy, if Rashid is angry enough to walk away from his job   
over Dorothy's treatment, maybe there could be potential for more between them?   
Also, I liked the idea of the head Maguanac being something other than some sort of   
"yes" man to Quatre. I really don't know how old Rashid is, but in the story I placing   
him around 35. Last, I haven't finished this story, but have discovered my bad habit of   
losing interest in a story before it's finished creeping in. I wonder if people will even   
be interested in this type of plot. Please let me know if you'd like me to continue.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Master Quatre, I don't understand how you can let the woman inside your   
house, let alone engage her in marriage. She tried to kill you."  
  
Quatre sat with his hands folded on the top of his desk and listened patiently   
as Rashid raged on about the announcement of his engagement to Dorothy Catalonia.  
  
"My father once told me a story that I will tell you now," Rashid replied. He   
ignored the irritated glance Quatre shot him.  
  
"One day, a man was walking along the shores of the Nile, looking for a spot   
to wade across. As he walked along, he came upon a scorpion, which begged the man   
to pick him up and carry him to other side of the river also. 'You promise you will not   
sting?' the man asked. 'Yes,' replied the scorpion. So the man picked him up, placing   
him on his shoulder, and began to wade across the river. Half way across, the scorpion   
stung the man. The poison moved quickly through the man, and he began to sink down   
into the river. 'Why did you sting me? Now, we'll both drown!' To the scorpion,   
'I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's in my nature.'"  
  
Quatre steepled his fingers as Rashid finished his story and stood there glaring   
at him.  
  
"Dorothy is not a scorpion, Rashid. She's among the most loyal, creative, and   
brilliant women I have ever met. Though she can be absolutely lethal if you try to   
corner her, like an animal would be. If you respect her and are do not show weakness   
in your cause, she is a great ally. If you don't, she is a formidable adversary. I do trust   
you will respect her. She needs our protection, Rashid. There are people out there who   
want her dead -"  
  
"With good reason," Rashid interjected.  
  
Quatre slammed his fists against the wood.  
  
"You seem to easily forget the help she will gave us and the Preventers when   
Mariemaia tried to destroy all that we worked for. She did that without hesitation,   
Rashid. She is as worthy as any of the Maguanacs."  
  
Rashid stiffened at that, his great hands balling into fists. His eyes locked   
with Quatre's. The blond that he treated like a son refused to budge on the idea.   
Biting back a curse, Rashid unclenched his fists and tried to use the calmest voice   
possible even though he wanted to shake the young man to his senses.  
  
"As you wish, Master Quatre."  
  
Quatre sighed. "She is not the devil himself. In time, you will realize that she   
is a very loyal, and, in her own way, a very generous person.  
  
Rashid snorted. "Forgive me, Master Quatre, when I say not bloody likely.   
Be careful or she will tear your throat out." With that, he bowed to Quatre and left.  
  
Quatre gripped the sides of the desk for a few moments, willing not to break   
the wooden lip off. Rashid could be so damned stubborn. He was more of a father to   
him that his real father was. He knew that Rashid wanted to protect him, but he did not   
need to protect him from Dorothy.  
  
The girl still projected the same tiger-like fa‡ade, but the light in her had   
begun to fade over time. One of the few things that elicited any sort of emotion out of   
her anymore was her passion for the outdoors, her fencing, and her glasswork. He had   
raised his eyebrows the first time he had seen her in front of a torch, slowly shaping the   
glass. The smile she gave him when she looked was as brilliant as the flame before   
her.  
  
But the smiles were rare. And she was getting sloppy about protecting   
herself. Or at the very least careless about her life. He put his foot down when a man   
avenging his brother's death pulled a gun on her. She just stood there. He screamed at   
her to get down, but she just stood there so unnervingly calm, staring down the gun   
barrel. Slowly, she raised up her arms to either side. As if she were giving up, giving   
in. What in the hell is she doing? He had thought at the time. Trowa tackled the man   
before he fired.  
  
That day, Quatre told her she was going to come live with him, marry him if   
need be. Instead of protesting, she quietly nodded. When he had gone to take her   
home that evening, she was outside hauling a garbage can to the furnace she had out in   
the back. She heaved it into the fire. She gave her a weary nod and they walked back   
through the studio. It was oddly bare. Usually there were one or two projects still on a   
table or by a windowsill. He discovered later she'd take every single piece of glass and   
smashed it to bits in a quiet rage.  
  
Trowa had slowly slipped into the room as Quatre was lost in his thoughts.  
  
"So, how did he take it?" He asked as he reached over and clasped Quatre's   
hand. Quatre smiled softly at his lover.  
  
"Better than I thought he would," Quatre replied. "He still wants to kill her,   
but he'll respect my wishes."  
  
  
  
Dorothy looked out at the traffic that bustled about the Arab city. The   
Maguanac driving the car uttered something she didn't understand as a city bus cut him   
off. A curse, no doubt. She sighed and studied the people as they drove by. The   
women had themselves covered to one extent or another, but then again, so did most of   
the men. She did not quite understand how they could wear so much clothing in a heat   
that was so oppressive. She herself had brought along shorts and short sleeve tops for   
most of her wardrobe. One of the few things that Quatre had promised her was that she   
would not be bound by the strict dress codes at his estate. She wasn't sure whether to   
sigh or giggle about how the Maguanacs were going to handle her once everything was   
settled in. The driver had been both cautious and courteous to her when he picked her   
up at the airport. She had also noticed that he had frowned at the short sleeve dress she   
wore. She couldn't help but smirk. Some things for her never changed.  
  
Dorothy laid back into the cushions of the seat and closed her eyes. She   
didn't know how long she dozed, but the next thing she knew the driver was shaking   
her.  
  
Only half-conscious, she immediately went into the defensive. She slammed   
her arms against the curves of his elbows, breaking his grip out away from her as she   
balled up, shoved her feet against his waist and then thrust him out of the open car   
door. She leapt catlike across the seat, sweeping herself out and firmly placing her foot   
over the man's throat before he could react.  
  
She looked around her. Where was she? The mansion shone brilliantly in the   
sun. At the top of the steps, stood Quatre only slightly surprised at her reaction. It   
finally registered in Dorothy's brain that they had arrived at the state and the poor   
driver was simply trying to wake her from her sleep.  
  
She began to grin sheepishly at him and bring her arms up in a shrug.  
  
The next thing she knew, she was swept off her feet and thrown over a   
shoulder. She let out a screech and began clawing the giant's back. He merely moved   
up the steps as if he were carrying a sack of grain. She could feel his taunt muscles   
bunch and unwind with ease across her stomach and waist. She continued to screech   
and claw as they moved up the steps, but the man simply ignored her. When they   
reached the top of the steps, the man pulled her down from his shoulder effortlessly   
and placed her before himself and a now grinning Quatre.  
  
Dorothy looked up at the man who carried her up the steps like a sack of   
potatoes. He stood calmly enough before her, a few inches taller and more than a few   
broader than Quatre's slim six foot frame, with an odd hairdo that plastered his   
brunette hair outward to points on either side. Chocolate colored eyes stared down at   
her and a hint of a grin was on his lips. She stared into those eyes for a moment. They   
glimmered warning, laughter, and something else. What was that something else? A   
sudden wave of electricity jolted through her body. She felt her knees growing weak   
and her cheeks began to feel warm. What was this? An intense, attraction to this - this   
brute of a man?  
  
Dorothy lunged out at him, raising her hands like claws.  
  
"Dorothy, no!" Quatre cried out. He grabbed her from behind, pulling her   
away from Rashid. Not before she torn one ragged scratch down across Rashid's   
cheek to his beard. She looked up at him with hot anger in her eyes. The look he   
returned to her however had changed from the smoldering look he had been giving her   
to an ice-cold gaze. He then turned his gaze to Quatre, who was still struggling to hold   
onto her.  
  
"No, I don't know her at all, Master, she is not one bit the scorpion," Rashid   
said quietly as he attempted to stem the bleeding. Dorothy felt Quatre stiffen with   
anger. Dorothy herself was suddenly confused.  
  
"You may go now, Rashid," Quatre replied. The man bowed to Quatre,   
returned his gaze to Dorothy once more. So many things flashed in them in just that   
one glance at her, it left Dorothy even more confused than before.  
  
"You always knew how to make an entrance, Dorothy," Quatre teased her   
once Rashid was out of earshot. It was Dorothy's turned to be embarrassed, but she   
quickly shrugged it off.  
  
"You always know how to compliment a girl, Quatre," she replied. She   
looped her arm with his as they began to walk toward the mansion.  
  
"Rashid is a good man, Dorothy, just as loyal a friend as you. You didn't   
need to attack him like that."  
  
"I'm sorry, Quatre," she replied. "I don't know what happened. He was   
looking at me and I felt threatened. I just felt I needed to defend myself."  
  
"Rashid is not the person that you need to defend yourself against. If I asked,   
he would die to protect you. You'll need people like him in the coming months."  
  
Dorothy choked back all of her replies. She supposed Quatre was right, she   
would need the Maguanacs in the next coming months to ferret out any would be   
assassins.  
  
All the same, a small voice in her mind said, perhaps it would be best for   
everyone if they just killed you. The voice started whispering to her a few months   
before, getting stronger as time went by. Dorothy mentally sighed as she walked into   
the house with Quatre.  
  
  
  
Dorothy's next encounter with Rashid was a bit less adversarial than their first   
encounter. He challenged her to a duel. Actually, it was a mutual decision; he had   
spoken the challenge before she had.  
  
  
  
Quatre and Dorothy were having breakfast together the morning after their   
private wedding ceremony.  
  
"I need to go to the city today. I probably won't be back until late this   
afternoon," Quatre said quietly. Dorothy studied the scrambled eggs she had just   
speared with her fork. So much for the honeymoon, she thought, but there has never   
been any doubt about who he loves.  
  
"Tell Trowa I said hello," Dorothy replied before she placed the eggs in her   
mouth. There was a considerable pause from Quatre. Dorothy fought from rolling her   
eyes. This is me, Quatre, she thought with irritation, you can't and don't need to hide   
your love for him from me.  
  
"I will," Quatre answered quietly, then decided to change the subject. "What   
do you plan on doing today?"  
  
Dorothy giggled. Same old Quatre, always concerned. She would find his   
sympathy more comforting if he seemed to offer her a wider range of emotions than   
sympathy with the occasional scolding.  
  
"I figure I would take a dip in the pool, then probably spend the rest of the day   
in the workshop. There's a particular project I've been working on that I've been   
planning on sending off to the gallery in Amsterdam in a few weeks."  
  
"Oh, what is it? Your project, I mean," he asked with some interest.  
  
"A box," Dorothy replied. "Just a box." They continued their meal in silence.   
After a little while, Quatre got up to leave. He stopped by her, hesitant for a moment,   
then kissed her on the top of her head.  
  
Dorothy squelched the tirade she wanted to throw at him. What good would it   
do? So she bit back her words.  
  
"Have a safe trip," she murmured instead.  
  
  
  
Even though it was only about nine thirty in the morning, the temperature was   
already a cozy 20 degrees Celsius. Dorothy sloshed the water as she walked across her   
feet as she waded across the highest step. The water felt as warm as the outside air.   
Dorothy smiled at that. It wouldn't feel quite as cool when she got out of the pool.   
She stepped onto the deck, wandered over to the chaise lounge, and placed her towel   
down. She lay down on the towel and pulled her hair up about her neck. She unfasten   
her top and looped it over the lounge.  
  
She only planned on laying on the lounge for about twenty minutes to keep   
her skin from burning but still enjoy the warm sun at the same time. That didn't   
happen. After five minutes, she suddenly heard a pair of boots scrape across the deck,   
followed by being unceremoniously wrapped up a large robe and thrown over Rashid's   
shoulder yet again. Dorothy struggled uselessly against the terry cloth binding her.  
  
"I'm going to kill you!" she screamed.  
  
Rashid ignored her, moving from the pool area into the mansion. She tried to   
wiggle free of him, but the man would not budge. She twisted about, trying to figure   
out where he was taking her. Her bedroom door swayed left and right in front of her.   
Anger rose up in her. She was going to be damned if he was going to lock her in her   
room all day.  
  
She bent down and bit him hard on his shoulder. Rashid kicked the door to   
her room open and swung off her off his shoulder as if she was a hot coal.  
  
Even though her feet had touched the ground, he did not let go of his grasp on   
her robe. She squirmed away from him and there was a distinct sound of fabric   
ripping.  
  
"Stop," Rashid said quietly. Dorothy looked up at him. His whisper had been   
stronger than a shout.  
  
"A woman like you should not be parading about wearing such clothing."  
  
The hairs raised on the back of Dorothy's neck.  
  
"A woman like me? What the hell is that suppose to mean? That I'm some   
sort of trollop that doesn't have the respectability to grace these halls?" She spat out.  
  
Rashid's eyebrows raised, the light glittered off his dark eyes. The air seemed   
to spark with electricity. He tightened his grip on the robe.  
  
"That's -- ," Rashid began. Dorothy waved a hand through the collar, cutting   
him off.  
  
"That's exactly what you mean. How dare this unmitigated bitch step into this   
house and warm Quatre's bed, isn't it?" Dorothy knew the last part was far from true,   
but she doubted he knew that. And, Gods, was she furious. How dare this man   
question her! He only knew about the Dorothy of the hearsay, the stories, and the   
gossip. She hadn't even been at the mansion a few days and already he had past   
judgment on her. Damn him!  
  
"Lady," Rashid warned. "I would not speak so dishonorably of the Master or   
this house."  
  
Dorothy yanked against the robe once more. A couple more tugs and the robe   
would rip in half. Yet she could still not free herself from his grip.  
  
"Do you think you're better than me? Do you think I cannot best you? That I   
am only a weak woman?" She hissed. She twisted once more. She could feel the   
scraps of terry cloth tickle her back. Rashid's hands clamped down on her wrists so   
tight she could feel the bones scrape painfully together. She would not cry out. She   
was far too angry.  
  
"A faithful wife, like an good servant, should be loyal and honorable before   
her husband, that is all, Lady. And I do not think - ,"  
  
No, you don't think, do you? You half-breed desert sheeplover!"  
  
Dorothy winced at the sudden pain that lanced through her wrists.  
  
"I have killed men for less insult than what you are doling out now. If you   
were a man, I would demand satisfaction."  
  
"And because I am a woman, you think I cannot beat you?! I would have you   
run through and hanging like a prize on a gibbet before you even know you lost the   
duel!" she said softly. Dorothy's jaw ached from her teeth grinding together. Just give   
me the opportunity and you're a dead man, she thought.  
  
"Care to put that to the test?" he asked just as quietly.  
  
"Any day or time!"  
  
"Then, Miss Dorothy Catalonia, I challenge you to a duel in the exercise   
room, tomorrow at ten in the morning. Do you think you would be sufficiently ready   
by then?"  
  
"Yes." She bit out the word.  
  
Dorothy could feel his grip on her wrists loosen. She jerked her hands   
outward, smacking his away from her. At the same time, the front of the robe began to   
yawn open. She grasped the terry and held it against tightly against her.  
  
A strange quirk worked itself over Rashid's face. For a minute, she could   
swear he was going to laugh. Just try, I'll scratch your eyes, just try, Maguanac.  
  
He turned toward the door instead. He grasped the door handle and paused.   
His mood sobered considerably. The line along his jaw worked convulsively for a   
moment, as if he wanted to say something that he didn't like to admit.  
  
Finally, he said softly, "When I said 'a woman like you', I meant beautiful. I   
will see you in the exercise room in the morning." Then he walked out.  
  
Dorothy stood there in the tattered robe for a few minutes. Beautiful. He   
called her beautiful. And seemed to mean it. Not even Quatre seemed to mean it when   
he called her beautiful. He said it only to calm her frayed nerves. The only beautiful   
one for Quatre was Trowa. Dorothy knew that like she knew the sun rose in the east.  
  
But this man - this was different.  
  
Dorothy's cheeks flamed to a deep crimson. She never really had a   
compliment like that before. Not a compliment that wasn't couched with another   
meaning within it.  
  
Who's to say this is no different? A voice in her mind asked. Confusion   
flooded into her giddiness. What if it wasn't really a compliment?  
  
Certainly there were men out there that were much more guileful than Quatre   
or the other Gundam pilots. Perhaps it was just a ploy to "bake her noodle" as that   
American, Duo Maxwell, once quipped to her.  
  
Suddenly it seemed like she had just been in a verbal duel with her   
grandfather and lost yet again. He would toy with her, and his opponents, and just   
when she thought she might have the upper hand, he would reveal himself, show her   
she never really had a chance at winning. It was so easy for him to promise one thing,   
and deliver something completely different.  
  
Rashid could have said that to her as a distraction from tomorrow's duel. A   
quick sly way to give himself the upper hand.  
  
But what if he actually meant it? Hope began to sneak into her heart. What if   
he meant it? That he was honestly stating that he found her attractive? He did say it so   
quietly, like he didn't want to admit to it. As if he'd rather say anything else to her but   
that, yet was compelled to tell her the truth.  
  
Dorothy pressed her hands against her temples and moaned. She walked over   
to a tray on her bureau that held a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses. She filled   
one of the glasses half way and took a sip of water. Her nails tapped lightly against the   
glass.  
  
She looked up into the mirror before her. The robe slumped over a creamy   
shoulder. Her blonde hair fell down her back. Her eyes studied the curve of her   
jawline, traveling downward to her throat, then plane out along her collar bone. She   
studied her eyes. So prominent, the lashes reaching out to caress the mirror. Her   
eyebrows. Well, yes, they were a rather lost cause, weren't they? No matter how   
many times she plucked them, they came back thick and bushy with in a few days.   
Well, she decided, at least she wasn't as vain to pluck them out completely, leaving the   
concept to one thin swooping arch of the eyebrow pencil. Too much effort, too much   
primping. If she was going to be around people who judged her solely on a couple of   
patches of hair, she really didn't want to be around them.  
  
She glanced at her eyes again. Summer sky eyes, her father use to call them.   
Dear Father, how I miss you. Why did you leave me? Why?  
  
A vindictive voice slinked into her mind.  
  
Maybe he left because he really found you ugly, that you were a just a whiny   
brat demanding his attention all the time. God, you never could shut up. It was always   
'Papa this' and Papa that'. Rashid didn't really mean it when he said you were   
beautiful. Look at yourself. You're hideous. HIDEOUS! What man would find you   
beautiful? He was lying, just like the rest of them, just like your grandfather, just like   
your father.  
  
"Shut up! Shut Up! SHUT UP!" Dorothy screamed as she threw the glass at   
the mirror, shattering it. Her knees buckled and gave out. She slumped to the floor.  
  
Surely someone found her beautiful, she thought. Someone who liked her.   
Wanted to be around her. Surely.  
  
Her conscious gave her nothing but a smirking sound.  
  
Once again, as in the few months previous, her emotions were left raw,   
exposed. Her body did the only thing that it could to stave off the pain for a while.   
One tear, then another, rolled down her cheeks and hit the cold marble floor she sat on.   
She cried until the pool of tears soaked the edges of the robe.  



	2. A Delicate Truce

Part 2 - A Delicate Truce  
  
I do not own Gundam Wing. What would happen if we kissed? By Meredith Brooks.   
Off her "Blurring the Edges" cd. Capitol Records. 1997.  
  
Author's note - A quincenera is a coming of age party or festival that is held for a girl   
on her 15th birthday in most Spanish speaking countries. A lot of times, it is said to be   
like a "Sweet 16" party, but in more wealthy families the event is much more like a   
debutante ball. Also, there is a very good chance of the rating getting even higher as   
things go along, so just to warn you in advance. I changed the rating to pg-13 for the   
cursing in this chapter. One last note, I have read that the Maguanacs are a group of   
men that were also test tube babies. I have also read that they are a family. I am  
writing the story in that they are a group of men, not necessarily related, but do share  
the similarity of being test tube babies.  
  
  
  
  
Rashid adjusted the vest of his dueling suit. His mind moved unerringly to the   
events that had lead up to his confrontation with Dorothy Catalonia the previous   
morning.  
  
He and Abdul had been walking down a corridor facing south. The tennis   
courts, the pool, and a walkway leading down to the stables were there.  
  
As they walked, they came across another Maguanac. a young initiate named   
Hassim. Rashid briefly recalled the teenager's older brother, Jalal, beaming with pride   
over the boy's initiation. Jalal had been with the Maguanacs since the beginning of   
their quest and had proven his worth many times over.  
  
Rashid bit back an amused smile. The boy nearly had his face pressed up   
against the window and the manila folder in his hand was completely forgotten.   
Sheaves of important papers lay in pools of white at his feet, covering his shoes.   
Rashid could see where the boy's breath formed a small hazy ring on the glass.  
  
Abdul glanced at Rashid for a moment with a look that simply said   
'teenagers'. He then cleared his throat. Hassim did not move, didn't even notice them,   
just continued to stare quite intently at whatever he was looking at.  
  
"Hassim," Abdul said impatiently. Whatever has his attention, it must be   
quite hypnotic, thought Rashid. The boy was deaf, dumb, and blind to Abdul's   
commands. Rashid waited for a moment and studied the boy. He almost looked like   
he stopped breathing. Silently, Rashid walked over to him, placing his mouth next to   
the teenager's ear.  
  
"Hassim!" he barked softly.  
  
That got the boy's attention.  
  
Rashid had to take a couple of quick steps backward to prevent Hassim from   
crashing into him as the boy jumped to attention. At the same time, Hassim realized   
that the papers were no longer in the folder, but all over the floor instead. He fell to his   
knees and began to clumsily stuff the papers back into the folder.  
  
"Leave them," Rashid ordered. Hassim jumped up and dumped half the   
papers that he had gathered up onto Rashid's shoes. Rashid counted to ten before   
slowly letting out his breath.  
  
"So tell me, Hassim, what has so captivated your attention this morning that if   
I was an assassin I could have easily thrust a knife between your ribs before you would   
even notice my presence?" Rashid's voice had a deadly and demanding ring to it.   
Rashid watched the seventeen year old's adam's apple bob a few times. He   
involuntarily glanced toward the window and licked his lips.  
  
"Uh, it was nothing, sir. I just happened to note that the new lady of the house   
was enjoying the use of the pool."  
  
Rashid was perplexed for a moment and then bit back a curse. No matter how   
he felt about her, a man would be blind not to recognize that she was a very attractive   
woman. Even he had felt some spark of desire towards her when he first deposited her   
next to Quatre on the landing step.  
  
There was little wonder why Master Quatre would be attracted to her. She   
had eyes the color of the summer sky, lovely platinum blonde hair that glided down her   
back. The scoopline of her dress exposed a long creamy throat curving down to a bust   
hidden just beneath the cotton. He looked back up into her eyes. They held both   
confusion and a passionate bedroom quality. Emotions fluttered through them too   
quickly to be read.  
  
Her emotions became all too clear when the little viper lunged toward him to   
attack, however.  
  
Beautiful, but still deadly, he reminded himself.  
  
"You're dismissed, Hassim."  
  
The boy began to leave, but Rashid caught his arm.  
  
"I would remind you that she is the Master's wife. It would be unwise to   
encourage a husband's wrath, especially a new husband. You would be best to   
remember that when you take a wife. Remember how you felt when you ogled the   
Master's wife and then think of another man doing that to your new bride."  
  
"Yes, Master Rashid," the boy replied quietly. Rashid let go of the boy's arm.   
Hassim did everything he could not to run down the hallway.  
  
Rashid looked at Abdul, who was watching the boy make his hasty exit.   
Abdul then rolled his eyes and turned toward the window that Hassim had been staring   
out of. Abdul's expression went completely slack-jawed. He was silent for nearly a   
half minute before letting out a soft whistle.  
  
He turned to Rashid and said as he nodded toward the window, "I don't think   
Hassim is the only one who should be taught not to provoke a new husband's wrath."  
  
Rashid looked over Abdul's shoulder down to the pool deck below.  
  
Dorothy lay on a chaise lounge. Her hair cascaded down one side of the   
lounge. Her arms curled under her head, revealing the swell of her breasts pressed   
against the chair. Her back tapered down to a waist that dipped down to a pastel and   
floral bikini bottom that showed a generous amount of cheek. Her long legs rubbed   
casually against one another as her toes played idly with the metal filigree that   
bordered the lounge chair.  
  
It took him a few seconds to realize that his breath had caught. He clenched   
tight the hands that wanted to explore every inch of her skin. His tongue involuntarily   
wet his lips when he thought of pressing them to hers. He wondered how her hair   
would feel against his chest as she straddled him.  
  
STOP! A voice inside him commanded.  
  
Suddenly, Rashid became angry. What woman in her right mind would show   
herself like that? Didn't she know what primal reactions she would raise out of the   
men that surrounded her? A woman should only show herself like that to her husband!  
  
Yes, and right now, you wish you were her husband.  
  
The errant thought raced through his mind and was gone.   
  
He was so incredibly envious of Quatre, an intense longing filled him. For   
one instance, he would have given his soul to be Quatre.  
  
Allah, he thought bitterly, I'm going to teach her a thing or two about decency   
if I have to bind her hand and foot.  
  
"I will take care of this," Rashid replied quietly. Abdul looked at him with a   
bit of alarm. Rashid also noticed that he had not stepped away from the window.   
Rashid ground his teeth.  
  
"I would remind you of what happens when looking upon another man's wife   
also," Rashid said to Abdul a bit harsher than he intended. The other Maguanac looked   
up at him in surprise for a moment. His eyes filled with a mixture of humor, sorrow,   
and warning.  
  
"It would be good for you to remember that also, Rashid."  
  
Rashid was taken aback for a moment. Were his thoughts that obvious? A   
sense of duty entwined with his anger.  
  
He would show her. He would show her just how destructive her actions   
were, to the Maguanacs, to Quatre, to herself.  
  
  
  
But it hadn't worked out that way.  
  
  
  
He fiddled with the vest once more.  
  
Perhaps she will not show up for the duel he thought and then quickly   
discarded the idea.  
  
As if answering his thoughts, the door opened and Dorothy stood in the   
entrance. Instead of the suit making her big and bulky, she almost looked fragile.  
  
Looks can be deceiving, he thought. And yet seemed like a little girl about to   
walk onto the piste for the fencing lesson with her teacher. Her helmet was neatly   
tucked under one arm and she held her foil downward in a bandaged fist. For a   
moment, her chin quivered. There was such a sorrow reflected in her eyes.  
  
Is she going to cry? He wondered. Why on Earth would she want to cry?   
Women. Yesterday she wanted to rip my heart out, today she wants to cry.  
  
Dorothy acted as if she heard his thoughts, for she stood up tall, shoulders   
squared back and a withering gaze.  
  
Rashid bit back a smile. Despite himself, he much preferred her when she   
looked like she was about to take on an entire army than being sad. That one flash of   
melancholy had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. A scorpion was never   
sad; it lived for the attack and nothing else.  
  
Afraid that she is more human than you want to believe? His conscience   
mocked.  
  
Rashid's temper flared.  
  
Don't forget who are dealing with, he admonished. This is the girl that nearly   
killed Master Quatre. She does not deserve friendship or sympathy.  
  
"Are you prepared, Lady?" Rashid asked quietly.  
  
Dorothy slipped away from the door and walked toward the strip of mats. She   
gracefully swept the helmet onto her head, positioned herself, and raised her foil up in   
salute.  
  
"I am now," she whispered. Rashid felt as if the temperature in the room had   
suddenly dropped by several degrees.  
  
"I am not some wide-eyed school boy that you spar with, Lady. Are you sure   
you do not want to change your mind?"  
  
"Getting cold feet, Rashid?" asked Dorothy. There was the slightest tinge of   
amused bravado in her voice.  
  
The hairs on Rashid's neck rose at that.  
  
"No," he bit out.  
  
Her eyes turned jewel bright. The sword twitched slightly in her wrist.  
  
"Then - EN GARDE!"  
  
She moved blindingly fast from her salute stance into a lunging attack.   
Rashid stumbled back a few steps and barely kept his wits about him as he deflected   
the blows. He shoved his helmet on. She pushed him back with thrust after thrust.  
  
He was nearly backed up against the wall before his head was clear enough to   
start planning strategy. He began to notice the way her body and shoulders moved as   
she thrust, parried, and dodged. She would lean back ever so slightly before delivering   
a series of lunges. She had a bad habit of slapping away the blade when deflecting.   
The only truly positive thing about her fencing was that she was relentless. She was   
expounding far more energy than Rashid, yet she seemed completely at ease. The only   
thing to give her away was that her breathing came out only slightly faster than when   
she started the duel. He developed a quick, but true respect for her stamina.  
  
She rocked back slightly and began to lung forward. Rashid easily   
sidestepped the attack. He then deftly moved around and under her foil, touching the   
blade just above her stomach.  
  
"Touch‚," he replied.  
  
Dorothy's face held an expression of utter shock.  
  
"How - how --?" she stammered.  
  
"En garde," Rashid answered, raising his sword in salute, then moved forward   
with a predatory grace.  
  
It was Dorothy's turn to be on the defensive. Her eyes were as large as   
saucers as she stumbled about, fighting off his attack. Even her stamina began to   
falter. Rashid moved under her foil again and this time tapped her on her breastplate.   
Dorothy was crushed.  
  
Quatre had told him the story of Heero Yuy besting her by breaking the   
faceplate of her helmet. From the way she reacted, it seemed as if he was the closest   
one to come to besting her. Only he and Yuy had apparently been able to hit her once.   
Within a few minutes, Rashid had hit her twice.  
  
Too bad she did not have someone other than her schoolmates to practice   
with, he thought. She could be an excellent fencer if she just got rid of these damnable   
bad habits. He wasn't crazy about how she was reacting now either. It was as if the   
entire time that she fought, it was filled with bravada and anger. No grace, no   
calculation, no real strategy. It infuriated him.  
  
He slapped her foil away when she arched the blade toward him.  
  
"If you wanted a duel, then duel. Stop this silly school girl mooning!"  
  
Dorothy looked at him through slitted lids. She moved forward on him with   
completely mechanical gestures. She was no longer listening to her heart or her head;   
her body moved on its own, the sword moved by rote. When he parried, she was there.   
When he came in for an attack, she deftly moved out of the way. Then she came   
forward, attacking with clean, accurate movements. Her foil gracefully swooped under   
his and hit him in the chest so hard that the foil actually pierced the cloth, sticking   
there.  
  
"Touch‚," Dorothy whispered.  
  
"Has the Lady received satisfaction?" he asked her. Dorothy looked at him a   
far away gaze for a moment. She answered him by pulling the foil out and flinging it   
to the ground.  
  
"Grandfather would have liked you quite a bit," she said emotionlessly as she   
walked out of the exercise room.  
  
Rashid stared at the door for a long time before leaving to do his daily duties.  
  
  
  
Quatre steepled his fingers as he sat across the desk from Rashid as they sat in   
his office that evening.  
  
"I said it was all right for her to dress like that." He paused.  
  
"You actually dueled with her?" He asked with disbelief, then held up his   
hands when Rashid began to answer.  
  
"No, no, I don't want to know the details. I am angry though. I leave you two   
alone for two days and you're at one another's throats. It doesn't surprise me that she   
wanted to duel, but I expected you to have more sense than this."  
  
"Why do you think that the Lady would easily venture into this and not   
myself?" he asked Quatre.  
  
Quatre shrugged.  
  
"Dorothy has always been a hothead, going off and fighting wars when and   
where she could. I thought it was to compensate for what happened to her father, that   
he fought so hard for peace but was still destroyed, but now I'm not so sure anymore,"   
Quatre replied.  
  
Rashid took the folder that he came in with and gave it to Quatre. Quatre   
looked at it questioningly.  
  
"The Lady had said something to me that lent to doing a little research on the   
Lady's family this afternoon. Her grandfather, Duke Dermail, was a cunning old man,   
but I do not think I would want my child left with him. His daughter is cut from the   
same cloth. She only married General Catalonia because she and her father believed   
that they could manipulate the arm of OZ through him. And they did for several years,   
but General Catalonia was actually a peaceful man at heart. He wanted harmony   
among the nations and he strongly opposed what happened to the Cinq Kingdom.   
When the father and daughter believed that he had become too much of a liability, they   
had his shuttle blown up."  
  
Quatre shook his head and said, "But what does this actually have to do with   
Dorothy?"  
  
"Do you know that they sent her to identify her father's remains?"  
  
"What?!"  
  
"It was not something the press ever got a hold of, all they ever got was that a   
family member had identified the remains. I had to do quite a bit of digging on that.   
Apparently her school psychologist reported that she had nightmares for several   
months after the incident. I also accessed the sealed coroner's vid-report. There were   
three forms of identification. A piece of tooth that was believed to be a molar, which   
the General's dentist was able to confirm as the being from the General. That's where   
Dorothy came in. Both the Duke Dermail and the Lady Catalonia were conveniently   
absent. The only one left was Dorothy. They shuttled her out to the little colony in the   
L1 cluster where they had gathered the remains. Dorothy was shown the General's   
wedding ring. She said that she thought it might be his ring but she was not positive.   
They then produced a sketch of a tattoo from the remains. The unfortunate case with   
the coroner's assistant was that the boy said that they believe that this was what the   
tattoo looked like originally. Dorothy had asked him what he meant by that, to which   
the boy replied that there was not enough of the leg left to make out the entire tattoo   
clearly. He showed her the sketch to her and she stared at it for quite sometime that   
you almost wonder if you are looking at a girl or the statue of a girl. She finally   
handed the sketch back to the assistant and said that yes, the remains were that of her   
father. Then she left the room. But there is for one moment an actual glimpse of her   
eyes. There is such anger, vengeance, and utter hopelessness in her eyes.  
  
Her grandfather and mother had sent her there as a lesson not to cross them or   
she would suffer the same consequences as her father. From that day forward, her   
grandfather began to groom her to take her father's place as Treize was to replace the   
Duke's. She fell in love with war so much because it was the only war for her to   
escape and reap justice upon her grandfather and mother. Do you know her favorite   
quote as she was growing up was the one uttered by the American general Sherman as   
he laid waste to the rebelling states - 'The rebels wished for war, so let us give them so   
much of a fill of war so that they should never wish it again.' She meant the saying as   
much for her family as she did for anyone else."  
  
"Allah," Quatre whispered. "I know that she had been close to her father and   
had problems with her grandfather and mother, but I didn't know just how deep it ran.   
She had some respect for Treize, but she once told me that she never bothered Treize   
with her problems. She was probably too afraid that her grandfather would arrange to   
have him killed as well if he stepped out of line by helping Dorothy."  
  
Quatre ran his fingers through his hair.  
  
"I should arrange to have her see a psychologist," Quatre finally replied.  
  
"You can arrange for one, Master, but it must be her decision to see the   
psychologist. If you force her, it will be one thing that she will walk away from you   
on. And she'll be in more danger than she is now. Why did you not tell me that their   
had been threats on her life?"  
  
Quatre started in his chair.  
  
"How did you find out about that?"  
  
"The last man that came after her was quite vocal to quite a number of people   
that he was going to hunt her down and kill her for what Romafellar and OZ did to his   
brother. The man has since gone underground again. You know that the Maguanacs   
have your undivided loyalty, Master Quatre - why did you not tell us?"  
  
Quatre slumped his shoulders and said, "I simply did not want anyone to get   
hurt. I believed that Trowa and I could take care of anyone who came after her."  
  
"Keeping her caged here is not going to resolve anything. She is untamed, she   
chooses to be here, she is allowing you to believe that she is tame and contented, but   
underneath she is restless. She is like an old circus lion that no longer paces the cage,   
but she will destroy anyone in her path if she thinks they are blocking her way to   
freedom."  
  
"Well, she won't be going anywhere for the time being. She has been   
commissioned for several pieces for a gallery in Amsterdam. So she's safe for the time   
being."  
  
"When it is time for her to move on to Amsterdam, we will be there to protect   
her," Rashid said. It was a simple statement, not one that left room for argument or   
protest. Quatre simply nodded his head.  
  
  
  
A few weeks passed before Rashid came in contact with Dorothy again. It   
had given him ample time to think about the confrontation and the duel. He had been a   
fool about the confrontation, but it was actually the duel that had bothered him the   
most. The more that he thought about it, the more felt that he had been wrong to   
corner her. He had not been unlike the person standing in the way of her path to   
freedom. He was surprised that the blade had pierced his suit and she had not aimed   
straight for his throat. He hoped his apology could forge some type of temporary truce   
between them. The thought that she might hate her as much as her grandfather   
definitely did not sit well with him.  
  
He made his way down the dirt path that ran out from the northeastern side of   
the mansion to the adobe hut that was built to be Dorothy's workshop while she stayed   
on the estate.  
  
Quatre had wanted to take her to a party that was being held by friends of the   
Winner family in Riyadh. He thought she might feel less "caged" if she was able to get   
out. He mentioned that he had noticed that she seemed a bit quieter then he felt   
comfortable with. Rashid hoped that the party would do her some good also, but he   
felt that it would take much more than a dinner party to brighten her spirits.  
  
He was coming upon the workshop when he heard Dorothy's voice through an   
open window.  
  
"No, no, not like that Fatima - like this. Yes, good. Keep it rolling, keep it   
rolling. Hassim, bring over that dipper of water for me." Then there was a silence.   
Rashid was just about to knock on the door when Dorothy's voice stopped him.  
  
"So tell me more about Master Rashid, Hassim. What did the Blackguard do   
after his father died?"  
  
Rashid cringed a bit. He had assigned Hassim to help Dorothy. Who knew   
the boy could out gossip a woman?  
  
So she found out why he had bested her at dueling and found out his   
nickname that he had been given as a teen-ager. It had actually been a slur by the   
French fencing team at the World and Colonial Championship when he first attended   
the match. It infuriated them to no end that a Turkish boy of twelve was beating them   
quickly, quietly, and without ceremony. He fancied the sound of the name when he   
first heard and adopted it as his own. It was several weeks before he found out the true   
meaning and then he was furious until his tutor took him aside and said, 'Of course   
you're a blackguard, you spend all your time on swordplay and none on your ego.   
That is also what makes you beat those foolish boys every single time you meet them   
on the piste.' Through the rest of his fencing career, he took that name as a   
compliment.  
  
Rashid would have to speak with Hassim. He was telling Dorothy far more   
than what he would have liked her to hear from someone other than himself.  
  
"His father died when he was nineteen and he would have taken over the   
family's business on XJ497, that's in the L2 cluster, by the way, but OZ for some   
mysterious reason closed down the business and froze the family's assets. Some   
nebulously worded silliness about loyalty to the United Earth Sphere Alliance, but it   
was all a lie, I tell you. We were all loyal, Rashid's family just as much as anyone on   
Earth."  
  
"I don't doubt that," Dorothy reply softly. He could hear the guilt tinge her   
words.  
  
Do not feel guilty for me, Lady. Not for me. It was not an eleven-year-old   
girl's fault for what happened to my family.  
  
Again, Rashid moved to knock on the door and a third time he was stopped by   
the sound of Dorothy's voice.  
  
"What is he like, Hassim? What do you think of him?" Her voice sounded   
almost wistful.  
  
"He is like a father to many of us, Lady, including Master Quatre."  
  
"I suppose he thinks of himself as a father figure to me also. Odd, I didn't ask   
him to be one," she replied. Rashid could hear Hassim laugh.  
  
"What's so funny, Hassim?" Dorothy asked irritatedly.  
  
"I think he would not like to hear you say that, Lady. He thinks you are very   
beautiful. I think he is right, that you are a very beautiful woman. It would bruise any   
man's ego to know that you think of them only like a brother or father."  
  
Dorothy laughed at that.  
  
"Hassim, has anyone ever told you what a flirt you are?"  
  
All right, Rashid thought, that is QUITE enough. And I am going to tell him   
what a flirt he is among other things when I get a hold of him.  
  
Hassim's protest of "but it's the truth" was all but drown out by Rashid's   
pounding on the workshop door.  
  
"Come in. It's open," Dorothy yelled out. Rashid entered the workshop.  
  
"Speak of the devil," Dorothy murmured over her shoulder as Rashid walked   
in. He could feel the heat run across the tips of his ears at hearing her comment, but   
she had already turned her attention back to the glass in the oven. She twirled the glass   
at the end of the steel rod about delicately. Her assistant, a woman named Fatima,   
stood at next to her twirling her another rod. Wisps of hair floated above Dorothy's   
forehead and cheeks, but her long hair was pulled back into a tight braid. She wore   
overalls with a sleeveless shirt while Fatima worn clothes that reflected her Muslim   
upbringing. Hassim stood busily over a table, arranging things that the women would   
need as the molten glass was pulled out of the over.  
  
"I need to speak you alone," Rashid said to Dorothy. She looked back over   
her shoulder at him with a smirk.  
  
"Now would not exactly be the best time, Rashid," she said laughingly. "Why   
don't you sit down by the window over there if you like and we can talk when I am   
done."  
  
Rashid nodded his agreement and sat down in the chair by the window.   
Dorothy pulled the glass she had been working on out of the oven, carefully avoiding   
Fatima. The glass piece that she took out looked like a gigantic poppy, a deep golden   
orange with frilled edges. She took the rod over to the benches and rolled the rod back   
and forth along the wood so that the glass would not lose its shape. Hassim placed a   
dipper of water and something that looked like pliers down near the flower of glass.   
Fatima then pulled her rod from the oven. The piece of glass she was working on   
looked like a long narrow cone. It was the same bright orange color. She took the rod   
of glass and pressed it into the center of flowered glass Dorothy twirled. After a   
moment or two, Fatima balanced the rod across another bench. Quickly, she stuffed   
her hands into mitts that Hassim held out for her. Still twirling the glass, Fatima   
choked upward on the bar until she stood near the tools Hassim held out for her.   
Hassim handed her the pliers and she pinched in the glass about a quarter of the way up   
the glass rod. She passed that back to Hassim and gingerly took the dipper of water he   
held out. Lightly, she dripped water onto the narrow section of glass. The glass   
sizzled. After a minute or so, the glass had sufficiently cooled enough that Hassim   
handed her the pliers again. She worked the pliers intermittently with the water. After   
another few minutes, Fatima lightly jerked the metal rod she had and a plink! sound   
filed the workshop. Fatima quickly motioned to Hassim to grab the end of the rod. She   
then moved over to Dorothy's end and began to help her twirl her rod.  
  
"One. Two. Three," Dorothy counted off. Both women picked up the rod   
and moved back to the oven.  
  
"Do you have it?" Fatima asked. Dorothy nodded. The woman moved away   
from the rod. Rashid watched as Dorothy braced her stance and the muscles in her   
arms tremble as she held onto the glass. After a moment or so, her muscles held firm   
and her stance was comfortable. He watched her as she twirled the glass as the minutes   
went by. He was beginning to understand where part of her stamina came from.  
  
After about ten minutes, she pulled the glass out of the fire again and rolled   
the rod across the bench. Fatima quickly took over the twirling and Dorothy then went   
to the end of the glass rod. Hassim handed her a couple of wooden paddles. She used   
the wide one to create a long swirl around the tube. She then handed it back to Hassim.   
With the narrow one, she opened up the mouth of the tube until it looked like one long   
flute. They returned the glass back to the furnace for one last time and then they   
separated the rod from the bottom of what Rashid now recognized as a large bowl with   
a fluted vase in the center. The two women quickly placed into the annealing oven and   
shut the door.  
  
Dorothy sighed and stretched. She looked over at Rashid. He must have had   
a look of surprise or awe or both, because Dorothy gave him a weary grin.  
  
"Now we can talk," she replied. She turned to the others and said, "I'll be   
back in a bit to help clean up."  
  
Dorothy walked out the now open door and clasped her hands behind her back   
as she walked. He fell into step next to her.  
  
"I take it you've never seen someone work with hot glass before?" she asked   
quietly.  
  
"No," he replied, then added, "I never realized it was so labor intensive.   
Aren't you ever afraid you might overwork yourself?"  
  
Dorothy laughed. It was a sharp, clean laugh.  
  
"I would have to consider it work first in order for me to consider that I   
overwork myself, wouldn't I?" Rashid looked down into her eyes. They sparkled with   
laughter. She was happy, truly happy. Probably for the first time since she came her,   
perhaps even longer, he thought. He smiled back at her.  
  
"Yes, one would have to consider something work in order to think that they   
were overworked."  
  
"So what did you want to talk about?" she asked.  
  
"I came to inform you that Master Quatre would like to take you out for the   
evening to Riyadh."  
  
"Oh," she said. He could hear the disappointment in her voice.  
  
Interesting, thought Rashid. I thought she would practically be climbing the   
walls to get out of here. She seems less than happy about hearing the message. Or   
perhaps she was hoping for something other than a message?  
  
He looked sidelong at her. She seemed to be studying her feet as they walked.   
It wasn't like her usual confidence. It was almost as if she was, well, shy. With him.  
  
Rashid turned his face away from her to keep her from seeing him smile.   
Then he thought of the other reason why he wanted to talk to her. The smile melted   
away. He turned toward her. She looked up at him quizzically.  
  
"I wanted to apologize for my behavior at the pool and for the duel." There.   
He said it.  
  
Dorothy stopped walking and said nothing. She continued to look at her shoes   
for several minutes, but now her shoulders were squared back, not slumped. She was   
lost in thought, Rashid realized.  
  
After several minutes, she looked up at him and said, "I don't understand why   
you would apologize for the duel. You beat me fair and square."  
  
"It was wrong on me to press you in the manner that I did. It was stepping   
over the lines and I'm sorry."  
  
"Hn.," Dorothy replied at that, then added, "You're the first person that has   
ever apologized to me for something like that."  
  
"Surely Master Quatre has apologized for such things, like leaving you just   
after you were married to take that trip."  
  
"Quatre," Dorothy mused. "Well, there are certain lines that exist between   
Quatre and myself that he has never crossed. As for other things."  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"Lines need to exist in order for them to be crossed," she whispered. Rashid   
wondered for some time afterward what she had meant in that cryptic statement. She   
had a far away look in her eyes.  
  
Suddenly, she looked up at him and held out her hand. He looked down at her   
hand slightly perplexed.  
  
"Truce?" she asked with a small smile.  
  
Rashid smiled as he took her hand and shook it.  
  
"Truce," he said.  
  
  
  
Rashid had just come inside to tell Quatre that the helicopter had arrived.   
Dorothy stood at the top of the stairway and Quatre at the base.  
  
Dorothy's hair was swept into a loose chignon. Her diamond necklace and   
earrings twinkled in the light. The strapless dress she wore made Rashid think she just   
walked out of film noir movie. The dress was black in color, flecked with silver.   
Black satin ruffles started from her hip and traveled down the side of her dress. A slit   
ran behind the ruffles from her ankle to her knee.  
  
Rashid had to press his lips tightly together to keep for gaping. Dorothy let   
out a small laugh as she walked down the stairs, her hand gliding an inch above the   
balustrade.  
  
"Now, there's a pretty lady," Quatre said to her as he clasped her hand as she   
reached the bottom of the steps.  
  
PRETTY?! Rashid almost burst out, but bit his tongue. She was beautiful.   
Exquisite. How on Earth could Quatre dismiss her as pretty?  
  
Dorothy smiled softly at Quatre and said, "Thank you, Quatre."  
  
She turned around so that Quatre could place her wrap over her shoulders.   
Rashid could see her bare shoulder blades and the dress plunged downward into a vee   
at the middle of her back. Rashid fisted his hand. The desire to reach out and run the   
back of his hand along that bare section of back was almost overwhelming.  
  
She turned back to them as she adjusted the wrap.  
  
"Good evening, Rashid," she said with a smile.  
  
"Lady," he breathed out. Dorothy's eyes sparkled. On impulse, she reached   
out and clasped his hand for a moment, then let go, stepping back and tucking her arm   
through Quatre's. Quatre smiled at her.  
  
"Well, it seems like you two are getting along better."  
  
"Yes," Dorothy and Rashid said at once. Dorothy giggled. Laughter from her   
always seemed surprising to Rashid and beautiful. He wished that she would laugh   
more often. They held one another's eyes for a moment.  
  
"Well, then, that's great," Quatre said. Rashid and Dorothy were still looking   
at one another. Rashid could see Dorothy's cheeks get more and more rosy as the   
moments passed. Quatre cleared his throat and they broke their gaze. Rashid   
immediately focused his attention on Quatre, expecting anger for staring at his wife.   
But he did not see anger on the young man's face, only confusion on what just   
happened.  
  
"We'll see you later then, Rashid," Quatre replied.  
  
"Yes, Master Quatre," Rashid replied. He walked them out and watched as   
Quatre helped Dorothy into the helicopter, then retreated back into the house as the   
chopper disappeared from sight.  
  
As he walked along the corridors, he recalled Quatre calling Dorothy pretty.   
Not lovely. Not exquisite. Not beautiful. Just pretty.  
  
He recalled a time where he accompanied Quatre to a circus performance put   
on by Quatre's good friend, Trowa, and Trowa's circus troupe.  
  
Trowa came out with his partner, a girl named Catherine, if he recalled   
correctly. They performed some rather difficult juggling maneuvers with knives.  
  
"Beautiful, so beautiful," Quatre murmured. Rashid looked at the boy. He   
was enraptured by the performance. Rashid had found the act well performed, but   
nothing to illicit the awe that the Master expressed. It was almost as if Quatre was in   
love with what he was seeing. He had looked down at the two performers. Ah,   
perhaps it had been the young Catherine that caught his eye. She was an attractive girl.  
  
When he tried to tease Quatre about it later, Quatre laughed.  
  
"Catherine? No, I could never see Catherine like that - she's like a sister to   
me." Rashid had frowned in confusion, which made Quatre laugh harder.  
  
"Don't worry about me, Rashid. When I give my heart away, I know it will   
be soul mate."  
  
Rashid stopped in the middle of the hallway. Wasn't Dorothy his soul mate?   
He married her, didn't he? He said that when he gave his heart away, it would be to his   
soul mate? Wouldn't that be Dorothy?  
  
Quatre's casual reference to Dorothy as pretty danced circles around his   
dreamy whisper of beautiful in Rashid's mind.  
  
Who was Quatre's soul mate? If not, Dorothy, then who?  
  
Puzzled, Rashid walked to his office to look at papers that had been awaiting   
his attention.  
  
  
  
At half past eleven, Rashid got up from his desk. He decided it was time to   
take a break after he had read the same paragraph in the dry proposal he held for the   
third time. He knew that the request by Graham Electric for underwriting could wait   
until after he stretched his legs.  
  
He walked around the mansion to the north side and saw the lights from the   
workshop were on. Curious, he strode down the path and knocked lightly on the door.  
  
Fatima opened the door. She was as surprised to see him as he was to see her.  
  
"Hello, Master Rashid, what brings you around here at this time of night?"  
  
"I needed a break from my work. What are you doing here at this time of   
night?" he asked.  
  
"Same as you. Working. I suppose now would be as good as time as any for   
me to take a break also. Come in. Sit down for a while."  
  
Rashid looked about the workshop as he walked in. Several pieces of   
glasswork were encased in what looked like plastic. On the table lay several glass   
pansies on a tray and next to it was a heated tank of clear liquid goo.  
  
"What is all this?" he asked, gesturing to the tank and the several blocks.   
Fatima looked around.  
  
"Oh, this is our packing. It's a silicon carbon alloy that was developed in zero   
g on L1. The molecules are uniformly aligned. It can be kept in a liquid state at about   
100 degrees Celsius or higher. However, once it gets to room temperature, watch," she   
said as she grabbed a small mallet and a block of the stuff that encased a small perfume   
bottle.  
  
WHACK!  
  
The table jumped as she pounded on the alloy. She picked up the small block   
and handed it to him.  
  
"See," she said, "Not a scratch on it. And the glass is not harmed."  
  
"Impressive," Rashid replied. He studied the perfume bottle. He could see   
the delicate form of a mermaid carved in 3-D relief from the inside of the bottle.  
  
"She creates exquisite work. Very detailed."  
  
Fatima looked at the mermaid design and smiled.  
  
"That's a trade secret she hasn't even shown me yet. I suspect it involves   
laser work and chemicals I'm not familiar with. I saw her working on part of it. It was   
almost as if she was chipping away at wood, it came off so easily.  
  
"She burned her wrist really bad when she doing it a couple of weeks ago.   
She was back in the workshop the next day all bandaged up from her forearm to her   
hand. She must have been in immense pain."  
  
The same bandage that she worn in duel, Rashid thought. He didn't know   
whether to kick himself or pull her over his knee and give her a good spanking for   
fighting him with her wrist like that.  
  
"How dangerous are these chemicals that she works with?" he asked. He was   
disturbed by Fatima's sudden worried expression.  
  
"All the chemicals that we work with are potentially dangerous. And Miss   
Catalonia follows the precautions meticulously. But," Fatima's voice wavered off.  
  
"You're afraid for her, aren't you? It's all right, Fatima. You are her   
apprentice. You spend so much time with her, it would be natural for you to consider   
her your friend. And you are afraid for your friend. Why?"  
  
"When she was carving the mermaid, she was not paying attention, not really.   
She was so distant when she was carving it. Then she took the tool out that she was   
carving with and grazed her wrist with it. Fortunately for her, it was a very small   
amount of chemical and we had some baking soda. There will still be a scar. But if   
she had put more on or we didn't have the soda or.," Fatima paused, then continued,   
"Or if I wasn't there to help immediately, she probably would have lost her hand below   
the wrist."  
  
"So you saw her do it deliberately."  
  
"Yes," Fatima said and looked at her hands.  
  
"How long has she been trying to hurt herself?" he asked.  
  
"I'm not sure," Fatima replied, "I'm guessing a few months at least. Master   
Quatre hired me while Miss Catalonia still had a residence on a little colony in L2.   
Before the accident here, the most destructive thing I've noticed was when she   
destroyed all the glasswork in her old studio. I believe it was the day that Master   
Quatre said she was going to have to stay with him. I walked in on her while she was   
smashing this bowl to bits. She didn't see me and I didn't know how she would react if   
she did. I have never seen her so angry. The only time I have ever seen someone that   
angry was when my mother hit my father in the head with a skillet after striking me to   
the ground in an unfounded rage. Miss Catalonia had that anger, but at the time, she   
only had the glass. I did not want to be another target. The glass could be replaced, so   
I left as quickly as possible. I didn't realize until after the accident here that leaving   
that day had been a stupid thing to do. I had only turned my back on her for a moment   
the day of the accident. When I turned back, the tool was already sliding across her   
wrist. From the look on her face, you would have never known she had done that. She   
was gone, millions of miles away from her work.  
  
"Now, I try to watch her more carefully, but it's hard. Sometimes, she   
squawks at me, saying 'You are not my mother, Fatima'". Fatima raised up her hands   
in a sign of resignation.  
  
"Please," Rashid said, "I want you to continue to watch her. I will tell Hassim   
to watch after her also."  
  
"It was a good thing you sent Hassim to assist her. Though, the first day,"   
Fatima said, shaking her head, "I really thought she was going to gut him. But thanks   
to Allah, that boy could charm a scorpion itself into not biting him. He flirts with her   
and teases her. He makes her dream of a childhood she did not have. And he saved   
you from being gutted the next time she saw you. When she vehemently attempted to   
tear you down, he would quietly and subtly defend you. He really looks up to you, you   
know."  
  
"No, I did not," he said quietly. He would have to pull Hassim aside some   
time and thank him.  
  
Fatima seemed to read his thoughts. She was about to say something when   
they heard the chopper blades make a thumping sound as it reverberated off the   
buildings.  
  
"Ah, they're home," Fatima replied. "You don't mind if I accompany you to   
the landing pad, do you? If she's still awake, I'd like to tell Miss Catalonia that most   
of the packing is done. If we keep this up, we should be able to leave for Amsterdam   
in a few days."  
  
Rashid turned away from the so that she would not see him frown. It seemed   
like he was just beginning to know Dorothy and she was going to leave already. It   
maybe several weeks or even a few months before he would see her again.  
  
The chopper's blades whirled around lazily by the time they reached the pad.   
The pilot was opening the back door as Rashid walked up. He saw Dorothy's sleeping   
form slumped across the back seat. Quatre was noticeably missing.  
  
"Where's Master Quatre?" he asked the pilot abruptly.  
  
"He said that there was some urgent business to discuss with a Mr. Trowa   
Barton regarding the Lady. He said you would understand," the pilot replied. He   
moved to wake Dorothy. Rashid stopped him.  
  
"I don't think that would be a good idea. Fatima and I will take her to her   
room. Thank you."  
  
The pilot nodded. He climbed back into the chopper and started it up again.   
Rashid picked up Dorothy's sleeping form and was a little startled when she turned in   
his arms and clung to him. He looked back at Fatima, who eyed him suspiciously. He   
shrugged innocently, then ducked his head down as they scurried off the pad.  
  
"She probably thinks she's clinging to Master Quatre," Fatima replied.  
  
"Rashid," Dorothy murmured in her sleep. It was the first time in years that   
Rashid's face turned red. Fatima gave him a look of 'I don't want to know'.  
  
"Or not," she replied. There was almost a hint of a chuckle in her voice.  
  
  
  
Rashid walked along the corridor as Fatima readied Dorothy for bed. He   
turned as the door creaked open and watched as Fatima quietly closed the door behind   
her. She looked a bit worried.  
  
"She's asking for you," she said, then added, "Be careful Rashid, she is a   
married woman. The law is very unforgiving about a man coveting another man's   
wife."  
  
"I will keep that foremost in my mind, Fatima," he replied as he past her and   
opened the door to the bedroom.  
  
Dorothy was curled up in the bed. Her sleepy eyes followed him as he walked   
across the room.  
  
"You asked for me, Lady?"  
  
"I was wondering if you could stay here with me. Just sit down here with me.   
Just for a little while. Until I go to sleep," she whispered.  
  
"Lady, I do not think that is wise," Rashid replied.  
  
"Please." It was not her normal voice. It sounded much more like a child's   
plea. Rashid's resolve melted.  
  
"All right, but just for a while."  
  
"Thank you," she replied softly.  
  
He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time watching her.  
  
Where was Quatre? Why wasn't he here to fulfill Dorothy's wishes? Wasn't   
she his wife? Who was his soul mate if not his wife? He mused for the second time   
that day.  
  
Rashid jumped a bit when Dorothy replied, "I'm not a circus performer." He   
did not realize he had been musing aloud. He looked at Dorothy. She rolled over to   
one side, tucking her hands beneath her head. She was fast asleep.  
  
He got up and kissed her forehead. When he pulled back, he could see that   
she was smiling in her sleep.  
  
  
  
  
Rashid knocked on her door at about nine the next morning. She was up and   
dressed.  
  
"Good morning, Rashid," she said with a soft smile.  
  
"Good morning, Lady," Rashid replied.  
  
She frowned.  
  
"Rashid, can I ask you to do something?" she asked hesitantly. A little kick of   
fear went through him. She was going to send him away.  
  
"Yes, Lady," he replied.  
  
"Could you just call me Dorothy?" she asked.  
  
Rashid quietly let out the breath he was holding.  
  
"Certainly, La - Dorothy," he replied.  
  
"Wonderful." Again, she smiled timidly at him. "Was there something you   
wanted from me?"  
  
"Yes, Dorothy, I was wondering if you would like to join me for a morning   
walk."  
  
"I would be delighted," she replied. He could smell the orange blossoms of   
her perfume as she moved past him.  
  
  
  
They walked around the house several times. He asked her about her work,   
about the chemicals she used.  
  
By the time they completed their sixth circuit around the house, she looked   
down at her watch. She let out a small 'eep' of surprise.  
  
"I was supposed to be down at the workshop twenty minutes ago. Fatima is   
going to start looking for me. I have to go. I'm sorry."  
  
"Same time tomorrow?" Rashid asked suddenly.  
  
She gave him a radiant smile.  
  
"I would like that very much," she replied as she hurried down the path to the   
workshop.  
  
As the week went on, he learned about the uncle who first introduced her to   
glasswork. He wintered in Venice and kept a studio there. Dorothy visited him as   
often as she could until a couple of after her father died. Then the uncle said it would   
be best to stay with her grandfather during the winter breaks.  
  
"Mother put him up to that, I know it." She spit out the word Mother as if it   
was a curse.  
  
She talked about her cousin, Treize, also. About how much she respected and   
missed him. The man had been something of a substitute big brother for her.  
  
"I remember the times we would go riding in the foothills near Jungfrau. My   
father had purchased a little cottage that he had always planned on presenting for me as   
my quincenera present. My mother was going to raze it, but I fought her on it.   
Suddenly, she stopped fighting me, just put up her hands and said 'Fine, you can have   
it. Go to it if you like. That way I won't have to see you. You are too much like your   
father, girl, reckless and arrogant.' I blurted out "At least I'm not like you, calculating   
and cold.'"  
  
"What did your mother do?" Rashid asked.  
  
"She slapped me hard. I remember hearing the room echo the sound of her   
hand across my cheek. She refused to see me for the next three years. She only saw   
me after Grandfather ordered her."  
  
Dorothy hung her head down as if she was ashamed to admit something.  
  
"I missed her terribly during those three years," she whispered.  
  
Rashid reached over and gently brushed a strand of her hair back. His hand   
moved and cupped her cheek. Her face leaned into his palm for an instance. He could   
see the tears glitter in her eyes.  
  
"It was a very natural thing for you to miss her despite the way she treated   
you," he whispered.  
  
She stepped closer to him. They were now only inches apart. They stared at   
one another for some time. It would be so easy to step over the edge with her. So very   
easy.  
Dorothy was the one who stepped away first. He could feel her pull back   
behind her barriers as she stepped back.  
  
"Yes, well," she said with a sniffle, then quickly changing the subject, "You   
should see Wengen. It's such a beautiful village. In the summertime, I used to sit   
outside in the late evening and watch the sun set behind the Alps."  
  
He listened to her talk, but he was a little afraid he had pushed too far. It was   
an intimate thing for her to reveal. Something she would only tell a close friend or   
love about.  
  
Rashid shifted uneasily at that.  
  
Lover. What if she thought of him as a lover? While part of him abhorred the   
thought because it involved breaking practically every Islamic law, another part   
welcomed the idea. Almost shouted in joy of it.  
  
It suddenly felt like someone had taken a very cold knife and slid it across his   
gut. At this point, he was much more afraid of how he would react if she said she   
loved him that her actually saying the words.  
  
Quatre, why isn't she telling you this? Are you listening to her, Quatre? He   
thought. She needs you, Quatre, and you're not here. She's going to slip away from   
you before you've even known what you've lost. She's doing it already.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said abruptly, cutting off her description of the ancient trolley   
that traveled up to Wengen. "There are some very important papers that I've forgotten   
about. Please excuse me."  
  
He turned away from her hurt expression. He couldn't look at her for too long   
or he'd turn back and wrap her into a fierce embrace.  
  
"Goodbye," she said. The word chased after him like he was a disobedient   
animal, down the path, into the mansion.  
  
  
He did not arrive for their morning walk the next day or the day after that.   
The third day, Dorothy arrived at his office.  
  
"Come in," he said, not looking up from his papers.  
  
"I thought you would have come out to walk with me the last day I was here.   
Are you all right, Rashid?" she asked.  
  
Rashid shook off his startled expression at her presence. He knew she knew   
where everything was in the mansion at this point. He was just surprised that she   
would actually come to his office. She sought him out. He also suspected why she   
sought him out. She wanted to be with him. She had grown as attached to him as he   
had to her.  
  
Damn.  
  
Damn, damn, damn.  
  
Rashid moved the papers around on his desk and said, "I'm sorry. I simply   
don't have the time today."  
  
He could see the hurt look on her face. She seemed to change a bit before   
him. She squared back her shoulders. Her face became a mask.  
  
Ah, he thought, so you are squaring off for another duel, love. This time with   
words and not swords. So much for our truce. I would have liked to have been your   
friend if I did not want to be your lover as well.  
  
"Just when I think I've come to some kind of small peace with you, you force   
me away. Why? No, I know why. It's because you're afraid to be with me. It scares   
you, doesn't it, to think that I am something other than the OZ bitch everyone has   
claimed me to be. That I might actually be able to laugh at something other that   
another's misfortune. That I have a need for friends just as much as anyone else. I   
showed you a part of myself that I have shown so few people, Rashid. Because I was   
stupid. I thought you would understand. You seemed to understand and CARE. But   
you never did, did you? I was nothing but an obligation."  
  
He was both furious and ashamed. He was more than tempted to grab her and   
give her a long and through kiss to make her forget she ever thought he saw as an   
obligation.  
Instead, he said, "I have many obligations. I never considered you one."  
  
"Then why won't you come for a walk with me? It's my last day. I would   
like to walk the grounds one more time with someone who I thought was a friend. To   
be able to say goodbye to him."  
  
"I'm afraid that that is my fault, Lady. You are the Lady of the house and I   
am a servant. I overstepped my bounds with you.  
  
Dorothy turned her back to him and hugged her arms to herself for a moment.   
She swayed lightly.  
  
"Horseshit."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
Dorothy turned around and looked him in the eyes.  
  
"I said horseshit," she replied. "I don't know what you are up to Rashid, but   
you aren't going to get off the hook this easily."  
  
She walked out of his office.  
  
Rashid sat back in the chair. For a brief moment, he allowed joy and relief to   
fill him.  
  
She did not give up. She refused to be pushed away.  
  
He wanted to get up and go to her. To take her to her room and not let her out   
again for days.  
  
She did not give up. She refused to be pushed away.  
  
Reality set in. Perhaps it would be best that she was leaving. He could avoid   
her in the future. He was afraid of her returning his feelings. The punishment for   
adultery was beheading.  
  
Rashid signed. He had a very bad feeling that avoiding her would be   
impossible.  
  
  
  
Quatre arrived back at the mansion later that afternoon with Trowa. They   
nodded briefly to Rashid as they entered Quatre's office and shut the door behind them.   
He was too busy to do more than wave in greeting. He was discussing Hassim's duties   
in Amsterdam as others moved about in the hallway carrying the packed glassware and   
glassmaking equipment.  
  
About an hour or so later, Rashid was finally able to make his way to Quatre's   
office. He noticed that something was different the minute he walked in the door.   
Subtle, but perceptible.  
  
"The Lady's glassworks has been packed and shipped. It will be ready to be   
unpacked at her convenience when she arrives in Amsterdam."  
  
"Thank you, Rashid," Quatre replied. Rashid watched as Quatre pursed his   
lips together nervously.  
  
What is he hiding? Rashid thought. He looked at Trowa, who casually leaned   
over the desk studying some papers.  
  
"So have you found the people who have wanted to harm the Lady?"  
  
Trowa answered him by passing to him a few pictures from the folder that lay   
in front of Trowa.  
  
"Amal Dubeau, Hans Kroeker, and Paola Araujo," Trowa said as Rashid   
shuffled through the photos.  
  
"From what we were able to figure out, Dubeau no longer poses a threat. His   
entire family was killed when OZ destroyed the base near his home and the subsequent   
explosions carried over into the village, killing most of the people there. He swore   
revenge on OZ figurehead he could get near. He had been following Dorothy for   
several months before she came here."  
  
"He had been following her, he's not following her now?" Rashid asked.  
  
"Apparently his wife has grown tired of his desire for revenge. From what we   
understand, she told him that he could either be with his living wife in the present or   
the ghosts of his past, that it was his decision. Dubeau decided to stay with his wife."  
  
I see, what about the other two?"  
  
"Miss Araujo will no longer be harming anyone," Quatre said quietly. Trowa   
looked over at Quatre. Rashid could see concern in the young man's eyes for Quatre.   
And something else, something he had never noticed before. Rashid began to feel   
uneasy, like he was intruding.  
  
"She came to the party that night. She was going to kill Dorothy, herself, and   
everyone else there. Trowa took Dorothy out on the dance floor for a few minutes   
while I escorted Miss Araujo outside after we confiscated her detonator. It was quick   
for her; I tried to keep it as painless as possible." Quatre's voice had grown so soft it   
was barely an audible whisper. He clasped his hands together, rubbing them over and   
over.  
  
You always did detest killing, Master Quatre, Rashid thought as he watched   
him. Rashid knew that he himself was not a cold blooded killer, but he would have had   
no regrets killing a woman who was planning on killing so many innocent people just   
to have her revenge. Quatre was different. He would always strive to see the good in   
people. Just like he did with Dorothy. Shame scratched at Rashid's insides when he   
thought of Dorothy and what he had said to Quatre before she arrived. She was not a   
scorpion. He had been hardheaded and judgmental instead.  
  
"And Hans Kroeker?" Rashid asked, turning his eyes from Quatre to Trowa.   
The emotion that Trowa had been displaying was quickly shuttered behind a mask.  
  
That look was not meant for me to see, mused Rashid.  
  
"He's the one that made me decide that Dorothy should come her," Quatre   
said as he raised his hands to his temples. Trowa moved around and placed a hand on   
the chair that Quatre sat in. Quatre seemed to relax a bit. Rashid definitely felt uneasy.  
  
"We haven't been able to find him. After his attack on Dorothy, he just   
disappeared into thin air. You would think that one who had boasted so much about   
how he was going to kill her, he would have been easier to find. But we haven't been   
able to find any trace of him. Is it possible for you to get her extra protection while she   
is in Amsterdam, Rashid?"  
  
"Yes, Master Quatre, Hassim is already going to go with her. I can arrange to   
have his older brother, Jalal, to go with him. There is an old friend of mine who   
resides in Amsterdam who I can ask to keep an eye on her."  
  
"Thank you, Rashid," Quatre said with a sigh. The young man did seem to be   
exhausted.  
  
"If there is nothing else," Rashid said as he got up from the chair. Quatre   
shook his head. Rashid got up and moved to the door. He turned back to look at him   
as he left and realized that Trowa and Quatre staring at one another. It was the same   
way Dorothy had looked at him when he caressed her cheek. Rashid quickly shut the   
door behind him.  
  
'I'm not a circus performer.' Dorothy had murmured in her sleep.  
  
Trowa. Trowa was the one Quatre loved. Quatre's soulmate. Why didn't   
Quatre tell him? Why had he been so blind?  
  
Rashid stopped in the middle of the hallway.  
  
Which also meant that he brought Dorothy here simply to protect her. He was   
not in love with her. Which meant.  
  
Which meant nothing. He quashed his hope ruthlessly. Even though,   
Dorothy and Quatre were not in love, they were obviously good friends. And it also   
did not mean that Dorothy might have any feelings for him. She might have just felt   
incredibly lonely and sad when he reached out to her, nothing else. Loneliness was not   
necessarily a precursor to love. In the office earlier that day, she had merely referred to   
him as a friend, nothing more. Besides, she was still Quatre's wife and he could still   
get beheaded for becoming involved with her. Despite everything, there was still that   
possibility.  
  
Anger towards himself and the circumstances filled him. He went about the   
remainder of the day irritably snapping orders.  
  
  
  
Light filtered through the windows as Rashid rolled over in the bed. He   
opened his eyes. Something small sat on his night table. Rashid sat up and tried to   
focus his eyes. A small clear block with posy of tiny white flowers in it. There was a   
note tucked underneath the box. It was written in a clear, feminine script.  
  
'I don't know if you have ever seen edelweiss before. I never had the chance   
to tell you how much I enjoyed our walks. If I get back from Amsterdam, I would very   
much like taking walks with you again, but only if you are interested. If not, only tell   
me that your work will be neglected and I won't bother you my inane chattering   
anymore. I hope we can be friends. The glass is my gift to you. A thank you for   
listening to me. Your friend, Dorothy.  
  
Rashid read through the note once more.  
  
If she came back from Amsterdam? If? Perhaps it was just a mistake in her   
writing, that she really meant when. He remembered only a few things about his early   
schooling, but he did remember a psychology class where one theory out of the many   
taught that got stuck in his mind. There are no mistakes. Everyone did or said   
something for a purpose, whether consciously or unconsciously.  
  
Rashid tried to dismiss it. Jalal, Hassim, and Fatima would be with her. So   
would his friend, Kurt Deter. She would be all right. He repeated it to himself over   
and over again.  
  
  
  
He had nearly convinced himself of this by the time he got a call from Kurt   
about a week later.  
  
"Rashid," Kurt greeted him late one evening. "I have some bad news."  
  
Dorothy's mother, the Lady Catalonia, had arrived for an expected visit while   
Dorothy was in Amsterdam. They had a tremendous row. The Lady had some rather   
brutal things to her and Dorothy had flown into a rage. Fatima screamed at her that she   
was going to strike her own mother and that had stopped the young woman in her   
tracks. She told them all to get out. Fatima took Hassim with her down to the lobby   
for about a half an hour. By the time they went back upstairs thinking she had cooled   
off, she was long gone.  
  
Rashid slammed down the receiver. He started at the edelweiss in the clear   
packaging block. He picked up the phone again and called Abdul, who was in Riyadh   
with Quatre and Trowa.  
  
"Little late for a social call, don't you think, Rashid?" Abdul said sleepily.   
Normally, he would chuckle at Abdul's sarcasm. But he didn't have time for that right   
now. He had already pulled his suitcase out from its storage space under his bed.  
  
"The Lady Dorothy has disappeared but I think I know where she might be   
heading. Tell Master Quatre to meet me at Steigenberger Bellerive au Lac in Zurich   
tomorrow. Miss Dorothy has a summer cottage in the Swiss Alps. I believe she may   
have gone there. We'll talk then, my friend." Rashid hung up before Abdul could say   
anything.  
  
He busily shoved clothing into his suitcase.  
  
The words 'If I come back from Amsterdam' kept repeating in his mind.  
  
  
  
  
Hi Everyone. I hope you like things so far. Sorry this chapter is so long. If you see   
room for improvement, constructive criticism is always welcome. I sometimes have a   
habit of think of a human actor playing the role of an anime character, that the   
character is not an animation, but a real person. I have done that with Rashid. A few   
months back, I saw the movie "X-men". When I saw Rashid in Endless Waltz, I   
thought "Boy, he looks a lot like Wolverine from the X-men", which immediately   
made me think of Hugh Jackman, the actor, in his Wolverine make-up, and then   
thought of Hugh Jackman as Rashid. I had also read NemKess "Where have all the   
Cowboys Gone?" by the time also. And that's how the story began. I hope to have the   
next chapter out a little sooner than this one was, but that one will also be dependant on   
the length of it. Please review also, reviews help me write the stories faster. ?  



	3. The Path Between the Living and the Dead

I do not own Gundam Wing.   
  
  
  
  
Dorothy could no longer feel anything but the warm fluid dripping down her   
wrists. The storm continued to pour into the valley from the lakes Breinz and Thun off   
to the north. She rolled over to look at the thunderheads starting to slam into Jungfrau.   
The contrast between the summer storm and its still snowy peaks filled Dorothy with a   
sense of peace. She knew what she had to do. There was no anger, no pity, or fear in   
it. She was slipping away from all the shame and pain in one simple act.  
  
Nobody would miss her. Not really. Quatre had Trowa. Fatima was an   
excellent glassmaker in her own right. The last time she had visited Une, the woman   
had been so wrapped up in Mariemaia's slow, but steady progress that she only paid a   
fraction of attention to what Dorothy had said. Nobody needed her, depended on her,   
wanted her. Particularly her mother.  
  
Mother. Dorothy winced a bit as another sharp pain jagged across her wrists.  
  
She had shown up at her hotel room, immaculate and exuding sophistication.  
  
"So what brings you here, Mother?" Dorothy asked. Satan let you take a   
holiday? She almost added on, but held her tongue.  
  
"Why I just wanted to visit my daughter. Our schedules are so busy I hardly   
get to see you. And I was so disappointed not to be invited to the wedding," she cooed,   
her lips turning into a small pout.  
  
"I explained to you before I flew to Riyadh that it was going to be a Muslim   
ceremony and that there would be no reception. I also told you that women other than   
the bride are not allowed to view or participate in the ceremony. Besides, it was not all   
that big of an event. It started and finished within fifteen minutes."  
  
"Yes, but I didn't even have the opportunity to meet my new son-in-law. You   
surprised me, Dorothy. I really didn't think you had the skill to land such a man. I was   
certain you would call crying in the middle of the night before the wedding telling me   
that he had changed his mind. I mean honestly, you're such a plain girl. I simply don't   
understand what he sees in you."  
  
She clasped her hands and sighed before continuing, "But we've all got to   
work with what we've got, don't we, dearest?"  
  
The image of grabbing a knife and slitting her throat was foremost in   
Dorothy's mind. Dorothy closed her eyes and counted to ten before answering her.  
  
"Still as charming as ever, aren't you, Mother?"  
  
Her mother frowned.  
  
"No need to be plebeian, Dorotea Ysabel," she sniffed, addressing Dorothy by   
her formal Christian name.  
  
"Why are you here, Mother?" Dorothy asked quietly.  
  
Her mother's eyes sparkled. A long dull pain as if she were being gutted   
slowly twisted and turned its way along the length of Dorothy's abdomen. Her mother   
had the same gleam when she asked if the body that had been discovered was that of   
her father's when Dorothy had returned from L1.  
  
Always manipulating, always wanting more power, thing never change for   
you, do they, Mother? Dorothy thought.  
  
"There's a delicious arrangement I have for your new husband. I've heard   
that he has gotten a proposal to underwrite for Graham Electric that he has yet to lend   
his consent. They asked me to see you to sweeten the pot. He can win back his   
investment ten fold with in eight weeks by underwriting the section that they are trying   
to get off the ground."  
  
Dull pain took another twist through her stomach when she asked, "What   
exactly does this technology do, Mother?"  
  
Her mother gave her a look of irritation.  
  
"It is a neutralizing device. It can quickly and methodically cleanse an area   
the size of Epsilon 495 in the L1 colony within two hours and make the facility safe for   
entry with in thirty minutes after that. There's one small problem, " her mother replied   
as she gestured daintily with her hands.  
  
Dorothy looked at her in a detached manner for a moment. Her lustrous ash   
blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun. At the same time, her mind was quickly   
calculating the size of Epsilon 495. A fifteen kilometer radius, an outer ring three and   
a half kilometers in height, a strip of habitable land on the outer ring that could easily   
hold between five to six million people. It was hailed as the largest colony every   
made. She looked up into her mother's animated brown eyes and then down to her soft   
hands with a tidy French manicure caressing the small dark green clutch that matched   
her dark green suit. She drifted back to what her mother was saying.  
  
"If Mr. Winner could persuade his subsidiary, BP Chem to release enough of   
the trigger chemical that creates the bio-electric agent Graham Electric has been   
developing, by this time next year, you be rich enough to not have depend on people to   
purchase those silly baubles of yours."  
  
Dorothy thought, five to six million people murdered and wiped from   
existence in two hours. She looked at her mother as she waited for Dorothy to answer.  
  
You're such an attractive woman, Mother. You are also devious,   
manipulative, and utterly vicious. An image came to Dorothy's mind of her mother   
precisely slitting a person's throat in order to avoid it soiling her gloves. And if that   
meant someone else taking the fall for her, as far as she was concerned, that was simply   
one of the misfortunes of the business.  
  
It never ends with her, does it? Dorothy thought. She has an absolutely   
insatiable appetite for war and power. She never gave a damn how many people died   
just so long as it didn't get in the way of her profiting from it.  
  
Her mother started impatiently tapping her foot.  
  
"No, I won't speak to him," Dorothy replied.  
  
A look of seething anger and hatred rolled across her mother's face and she   
said very quietly, "What did you say to me?"  
  
Dorothy bit her nails into her palms to keep from flinching at that voice.  
  
"You don't run my life, Mother. I am not here for you to snap your fingers   
and me to run about like a little puppet doing your despicable errands," Dorothy said.   
She squared her shoulders back and looked her mother straight in the eye.  
  
Her mother got up with a start.  
  
"You ungrateful little bitch," she whispered to Dorothy. "Look of all that I   
have done for you and you give me not one small favor in return. You stupid girl. Do   
you really think you can hold onto that husband of yours? He'll toss you aside just like   
one of those baubles you waste your time on. You were never good for anything. Why   
couldn't God have given me a son instead of a worthless girl like you?"  
  
Dorothy had enough. She stood up quickly and backhanded her mother with a   
closed fist across the cheek. Her mother crashed back into the chair behind her. She   
sat dazed and slumped, holding onto her quickly bruising cheek.  
  
"When you sent me to identify Father's body, I could no longer deny what a   
truly, utterly and completely heartless beast you were. You're not human. And I'm   
surprised at myself, Mother, to think that you ever were. There's no room in your life   
for anything but power. Not Father, not me, not even Grandfather when he was alive.   
How pleased he would have been to realize you are so like him if he was capable of   
taking that much time away from his own obsession with power."  
  
Her mother had gained enough of her senses to grasp tightly onto Dorothy's   
hand. She lifted herself up so that she could look at Dorothy face to face.  
  
"Be careful what you say to me, Dorotea Ysabel. You can easily walk the   
same path as your father. You were always just as tragic and impetuous as he was.   
And think about your new husband as well, dear. You wouldn't want anything to   
happen to him, would you?" Her mother caressed Dorothy's cheek with the back of   
her hand.  
  
Dorothy grabbed her wrist and watched her mother wince from the pain. She   
could feel the older woman's bones distinctly, individually in her tightening clasp.  
  
But Dorothy herself suddenly felt tired, drained of energy. She was so tired.   
Of running, of watching her back, of trodding on egg shells, of never having more than   
a few moments of peace. She didn't want to do this anymore.  
  
She drew her mother up close so that their faces were just inches apart.  
  
"There are some places, dearest Mother, that even you can't torment me,   
where you will never be able to get to me."  
  
Her mother had a look of confusion on her face. Dorothy bit back a laugh that   
suddenly scrabbled up her throat.  
  
"Frustrates the hell out of you, doesn't it?"  
  
Her mother said nothing.  
  
"Take your things and get out," Dorothy said, thrusting the older woman away   
from her. Her mother quickly scooped up the items that had fallen on the chair from   
her purse, haphazardly shoving them in. Dorothy turned and began to walk away, but   
then stopped in mid-stride and turned back to the rapidly retreating woman.  
  
"Oh, and know this, Mother. If I ever see you again, I'll strangle the life from   
you inch by inch until you are nothing but a glass-eyed rag doll in my hands," Dorothy   
said quietly.  
  
Her mother stiffened.  
  
"Be aware of who you threaten, girl," her mother said just as quietly.  
  
"I know what I said and I know who I said it to. And it was not a threat."  
  
Dorothy listened to the window panes rattle as the door slammed behind the   
woman.  
  
  
  
Fatima had come in to see her a few minutes after her mother left to remind   
Dorothy of an appointment she had with one of the gallery owners that afternoon.  
  
"Are you all right?" Fatima asked when Dorothy had not said anything.  
  
Dorothy smirked as if Fatima had just told her some great joke. She leaned   
over in the chair she had been sitting in and rubbed her temples.  
  
"I'll be fine," she lied. She didn't like lying to her apprentice. At this point,   
however, she was only standing in her way and would definitely not understand what   
Dorothy was going to do.  
  
"I'm going to take a nap before we go. Can you come in and wake me in an   
hour?" Dorothy asked.  
  
Fatima's apprehension didn't seem to lessen. Dorothy was beginning to think   
that the woman was going to say no.  
  
"Certainly," Fatima finally replied. Dorothy slowly let go of the breath she   
was holding.  
  
Fatima walked to the door and looked back at her.  
  
"Are you sure you're all right? Do you want to..," the woman hesitated. "Do   
you want to talk about anything?"  
  
That surprised Dorothy. She hadn't ever seen Fatima look that concerned for   
her.  
  
Still, sentiment is not going to stop me, Dorothy thought.  
  
"I'm fine, Fatima," Dorothy replied.  
  
The woman turned to walk out the door.  
  
"Fatima," Dorothy called out suddenly.  
  
Fatima looked back at Dorothy.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Fatima nodded and shut the door behind her.  
  
  
  
It hadn't taken more much time at all for Dorothy to change and slip out onto   
the ancient fire escape. She was in a taxi heading for the airport within fifteen minutes   
of thanking Fatima. She already felt oddly detached from the rest of the world. She   
reacted to everything around her in a desensitized, open manner.  
  
"Destination?" the counter attendant asked pleasantly.  
  
"Zurich," Dorothy replied.  
  
"Roundtrip?"  
  
"No, one way," Dorothy replied, then added, "I'm going home."  
  
"Oh, where's home?"  
  
"Wengen."  
  
"Oh, I've been there. Beautiful village. So peaceful."  
  
"Yes, it is," Dorothy managed to whisper."  
  
The attendant handed her boarding ticket, which was a small plastic card with   
a metal chip in it. She then placed an electronic signature pad before Dorothy.  
  
"Here's your ticket," the attendant said from rote, "Please sign here and initial   
here, here, and here as I ask you a few security questions." She pointed to the places   
on the pad as she spoke.  
  
"If you have any luggage or carry-on, did you pack it or did someone pack it   
for you? If so, do you know this person well? Has anyone asked you to." The   
attendant droned onward. Dorothy could feel herself respond correctly to the   
questions, but her mind was already miles from the ticket counter, slipping away to the   
peace of the cottage that awaited her.  
  
She felt herself walk mechanically walk to the plane and board it. The   
attendants tried not to disturb her too much, but Dorothy really didn't notice them. She   
just stared aimlessly out the window for the entire flight.  
  
When she reached the cottage, she immediately went to the liquor cabinet and   
pulled out a bottle of vodka. She poured about a third of the bottle in a large tumbler   
and took one large slug of it, then another. She winced only slightly as the alcohol   
immediately dried out her tongue and throat as she swallowed the third mouthful. She   
walked into the bedroom, exhausted from her trip and sank onto the cushions of the   
bed. She emptied the tumbler in another couple of mouthfuls and discarded the glass   
and bottle onto the desk. Within a few minutes, the alcohol began to slowly unravel   
the numb feelings long enough for her exhaustion to take over and she passed out   
where she lay.  
  
  
  
On the third day, she woke up late in the morning to a pounding headache.   
Her stomach swimmed about in rolling waves of nausea. She reached over for the   
bottle of rum that sat on the night table and grimaced at the taste of the liquid as it hit   
the back of her throat.  
  
Should have drunk the rum first and had the nasty stuff out of the way, she   
thought.  
  
She stood up and stumbled over to the window. Even the dim sunlight forcing   
its way through the summer thunderstorm creeping up the valley tortured her eyes. She   
could feel the pane vibrate lightly as she heard the low rumble of thunder coming in   
from a distance.  
  
What a lovely day for a stroll.  
  
She stumbled towards the door. She fought for several minutes to put on her   
shoes without having to put down the bottle. Finally, after the battle was won, she   
staggered towards the door.  
  
The fresh alpine air slapped into her and she sobered slightly.  
  
What was she out here for again? A stroll, yes, that's right, a lovely stroll.  
  
She sauntered down the path that lead away from Wengen and toward   
Lauterbrunnen at the base of the mountain.  
  
The storm broke over her about a half kilometer down the path. The lightning   
zigzagged across the sky and the thunder felt like a giant cuff against her body.  
  
She kept moving.  
  
Within a couple of minutes, warm rain began to wash over her. She was   
soaked head to foot within seconds.  
  
She kept walking down the path. Each step was more uncertain than the last.   
She could dimly feel the liquor burn down her throat as she pressed the bottle to her   
lips and drank in the stuff in gulps.  
  
Finally, she stumbled and fell down. The bottle burst into shards as it hit the   
ground. Dorothy could feel tiny and not so tiny bites nip at her ankles and legs where   
the glass grazed her.  
  
There was a section of her calf that itched viciously. When she ran her nails   
across her skin, she found a large sliver of glass had embedded itself into her leg. After   
a few tries, she was able to pull it out and examine it.  
  
It was a long, bloody, wicked looking piece of glass and Dorothy wondered if   
she might have gotten the entire piece out as she studied it. Her leg still itched like   
crazy.  
  
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a panic little voice said, "You are much   
too calm about this. Throw the glass away. It's not as enticing as you think. Throw it   
away, Dorothy."  
  
Dorothy ignored the voice. She continued to turn and twist the piece of glass   
in her hand.  
  
So beautiful, she thought. So hideous that it has it own kind of beauty.  
  
She twirled around between her thumb and forefinger one more time. The   
blood was almost completely washed away from it by the rain.  
  
I have a use for you, she thought as she stared at the shard. Quickly, quickly,   
before you lose your nerve.  
  
Dorothy held her wrist out and in one downward thrust, sliced it with the glass   
shard. Fiery pinpricks of pain raced up her arm and she gasped.   
  
Not done yet, she thought weakly. She picked the shard up from where it fell   
in her lap and quickly repeated the movement across her other rest. This time she cried   
out for a moment, then lapsed back into silence.  
  
She leaned back against the grass that bordered the path. She could faintly   
smell it and something else, something that left a metallic taste in her mouth. Her   
blood. Slowly flowing outward. She could feel her pulse in her ears now. It seemed   
to thrummed on and on, but each beat quieter than the last.  
  
Suddenly, her stomach flip-flopped. She rolled to one side and vomited.   
Alcohol burned her through her stomach up her throat and even through her nose.   
Dorothy thought, this is ironic, I'm getting drown by the smells of rubbing alcohol.   
Who knew death could have such a clinic smell to it.  
  
The rain pounded against her body, she could feel each drop hit her body. She   
was in pain; she struggled weakly. She wanted to rip the skin from her body, but it   
seemed to be taking everything just to breathe.   
  
The world around her began to shut down. Piece by piece. Bit by bit. She   
could no longer see the mountains, could no longer see Jungfrau. No longer hear the   
birds jabbering inanely as they rode out the storm in a tree a few feet from where she   
fell. Slowly, it crept in, winding a tighter and tighter circle. She could no longer see   
her hands. Could no longer hear the weak thrum of her heartbeat.  
  
Stripped my senses on the spot. I've never been so defenseless, she thought   
idly.  
  
Then nothing.  
  
  
  
She found herself walking down a long pitch black corridor with the exception   
of two points of light at either end of tunnel. The tunnel shook violently and she was   
thrown to the floor.  
  
I can't even make sense of this, she thought impassively.  
  
"Dorothy!" someone cried out passionately.  
  
That voice sounds so familiar.  
  
Again the voice cried out. This time she felt a distinct yank on her body,   
dragging her toward one of the points of light. Back in the direction which she had   
come, not where she was traveling toward. She grasped against the floor, but it was   
sleek and smooth. She slipped back toward the point of light even quicker.  
  
"Dorothy!"  
  
That almost sounded like fear. A cry of a wounded animal.  
  
What did I do? Dorothy thought wildly. What have I broken?  
  
That thought sent her flying back toward the entrance.  
  
The stubborn part of her rose up.  
  
No! NO! Go away, damn you. Go away!  
  
She clawed at the floor, desperately trying to find a handhold that would keep   
her from slamming back into herself. She looked back up at the light. It was engulfing   
her.  
  
Too late.  
  
Even after that, it seemed to take an awfully long time to become aware of the   
fact that someone was standing over her. Grasping her. Shaking her.  
  
"Dorothy!"  
  
Her eyes slid open a sliver. The figure was all fuzz. She could smell his   
cologne.  
  
Mmm, comforting, Dorothy thought. Her eyes slid shut again.  
  
"Dorothy! Wake up! Look at me!"  
  
Her eyelids open a fraction again after much protest. It seemed so hard to   
focus. She concentrated on it for a long time and finally the being came into focus.  
  
Rashid.  
  
Rashid had her in his arms. She couldn't feel her arms beneath her biceps   
because he had such a vicious grip on them.  
  
Go away, she wanted to say. Her head lolled to one side and he shook her   
again. She started to think he wanted to shake her head right off her body.  
  
Go away, dammit. She sent the command to her mouth but all it would do   
was swallow convulsively.  
  
Aren't you dead yet? A spiteful thought asked.  
  
She looked at him as if he were very far away. An emotion flickered dimly in   
the back of her mind. She waited the long moments for it to register. Everything   
seemed so far away.  
  
She was embarrassed. That was the emotion that finally came to her through   
the wide blanket of apathy. Embarrassed. The apathy shrugged lightly, sending out   
ripples across her mind.  
  
She became vaguely aware that Rashid had picked her up and was running up   
the path.  
  
Why are you doing this, Rashid? I'm dying, just let me die. Let me go.  
  
Another soft determined voice rose up from her core.  
  
Don't give up. Don't let go, it whispered over and over.  
  
  
  
Dorothy drifted between a black to milky white nothingness, then back again.  
  
  
  
She dreamt her spirit was floating high above the Earth. Suddenly, she   
twirled into a nose dive and drove herself downward through the sky, through the   
clouds, down, down, into the earth. She tried to scream but she could feel the breath   
being pressed out of her the deeper she fell. She clawed at the earth, fear tearing into   
her.  
  
Out, must get out.  
  
Wake up, wake up, wake up, Dorothy, a voice said to her from a long way off.  
  
Her speed slowed and she looked up. Light filtered down the hole from far   
above. She reached up farther and farther with her hands toward the opening. It   
seemed so far away, but in the back of her mind she thought, Not that far. Not that far   
out of reach. Reach I, almost there, can just make it.  
  
She could feel the warmth of the sunlight touch her fingers as she found a   
handful of grass to grab. Her other hand patted along the ground blindly until she   
found another clump of grass. She heaved and hauled herself from the pit. She   
climbed shakily onto the ground and shook the dirt from her.  
  
Mist formed and weaved before her, taking on a shape that became more and   
more familiar.  
  
"Father." She whispered in disbelief. A sharp sense of longing and sorrow   
filled her with such an intensity that she was sobbing in great wracks before he even   
said a word to her.  
  
He smiled lightly to and raise up his fingers. She looked to the hole behind   
her. Great spirals of black mist spilled and swirled out of the chasm, disintegrating as   
she watched. Dorothy took an involuntary step backward from the hole.  
  
After several seconds, the mists began to fade off and Dorothy could see that   
the deep chasm that had been created was now filled in. The dark mist faded as   
quickly as it had started. Grass rose and greedily spread over the spot where the hole   
had been just moments before.  
  
Behind the spot stood a stone marker. Not a marker, a grave stone. Her grave   
stone. With her name engraved in it.  
  
"I hope that will no longer be necessary," her father said, gesturing to the spot.   
His somber voice startled her a bit. It seemed deeper than she remembered.  
  
"It will be up to you to get rid of that," he said, pointing to the grave stone.  
  
She turned to him and asked, "Am I dead?"  
  
"Like, I said, my dear, that will be for you to decide. Let's go for a walk,   
shall we?" He swept out his arm before her, wanting her to lead the way.  
  
Dorothy moved toward the grassy path. Fear picked lightly at her heart. She   
could see the grass through her feet, as if she were a mere specter. She didn't know   
what she was getting into, but being with her father gave her a sense of safety.  
  
"I have missed you, Father," she blurted out.  
  
Her father smiled and patted her shoulder somewhat absentmindedly.  
  
"I suspected as much," he replied, then he stopped and turned to her. A look   
of complete seriousness covered his face.  
  
"But Dorotea, why did you do this? It's wrong. It's running away. I thought   
I taught you better."  
  
She could feel herself burst into tears at that.  
  
"I was just so tired, Papa. I was sick of watching my back all the time. And   
the threats. And the promises of vengeance. I was always on my guard, Papa. There   
were never any breaks."  
  
"We are all mortal, Dorotea. We all have our low points. I can't believe that   
there was nobody there to help. Or is that you didn't ask for help? You were never   
one to ask for help easily, dearest, no matter how many times I told you it was all   
right."  
  
"Who was I suppose to turn to, Father?"  
  
"There are people willing to help, more than willing, all you need to do is   
ask."  
  
"Who? Show me."  
  
Dorothy stood in a hospital room. She saw her body lying on a bed, nearly as   
pale as the sheets that covered her.  
  
Quatre stood over the bed, hands gripping the railing. He looked like he had   
been crying, but his cheeks were dry.  
  
Trowa stood by the windows, looking out at the mountains.  
  
Suddenly, Quatre pounded his fist against the metal railing, then turned away   
from his vigil and left the room. That startled Dorothy a bit. She had never seen   
Quatre burst out in anger like that, not with her. He had been smiling, laughing,   
consoling, even scolding, but never angry, not like just now.  
  
Trowa stood by the window for a few minutes longer, then moved to the side   
of the bed. Hesitantly, he trailed a finger down a strand of her hair.  
  
Dorothy watched as he caressed that lone stand that wafted against her body's   
shoulder, perplexed by Trowa's actions.  
  
"Don't mind, Quatre. For some reason he thinks he can change you. I know   
he can't change you, but though it may surprise you, he's a very stubborn man. I know   
I can't change you. Your life is what you make of it, Dorothy, not what someone tries   
to make for you. You need to decide whether or not you're going to live it."  
  
He crooked a couple of her fingers in one of his.  
  
"We are willing to help you, but you must learn how to ask."  
  
He squeezed her fingers again, then left the room.  
  
  
  
After a few minutes, Fatima walked in and sat down next to the bed. She   
stayed silent for so long, but she never took her eyes off of Dorothy.  
  
Finally, she leaned forward in her seat and said, "Do you know that was an   
incredibly selfish thing that you did? I knew something was wrong and I had hoped   
that you valued me as a friend and come talk to me about it. But you didn't. Instead   
you ran away. You couldn't trust me. I'm your apprentice and you couldn't trust me.   
I know you may have your reasons and your excuses, but it doesn't make me any less   
angry with you."  
  
Dorothy was dumbfounded. Her apprentice had never acted like that before.   
Then a smile began to form across Dorothy's lips. Fatima had fire. She was beginning   
to think the woman didn't have an argumentative bone in her body. She would have a   
lot to discuss with her apprentice when she woke up.  
  
If I wake up.  
  
The thought sobered Dorothy.  
  
Fatima had fallen silent again. Several more minutes went by and then she   
got up.  
  
"I will be here if you decide to come back. You can trust me, Dorothy. I am   
your friend. I will always be your friend," Fatima said as she left the room.  
  
It seemed like most of the day had gone by before Hassim came into the room.   
Dorothy jumped at his presence. She had been idly holding her hand up against the   
wall, watching the red and pink hued sunlight go through her hand and play across the   
wallpaper pattern.  
  
She really hadn't expected him to be there and watched him curiously as he   
walked around to stand by the body in the bed.  
  
"Hello, pretty lady," he whispered with a smile. "I'm sorry that you haven't   
been feeling well."  
  
He leaned against the bed rail.  
  
"As soon as you can get up out of that bed, we're going to go dancing. You   
and me, on the best dance floors in Europe, down on the Rivera. What do you think of   
that, huh?"  
  
"I knew you've felt like you've been cooped up when you were at the   
mansion and when you were in Amsterdam. I'd feel trapped too. It's not fair to have   
to stop living your life cause people are after you. They should be the ones that should   
be cooped up. They should be the ones always having to look over their shoulder, they   
should be the ones not having fun." Unconsciously, Hassim pounded his fist into his   
hand with each proclamation. When he realized what he was doing, he blushed.  
  
"Sorry," he said. "I guess I am very passionate about this, no?"  
  
"Yes, he understands what's been happening," spirit Dorothy whispered.  
  
"I also know that you probably thought that this was the only way out of it.   
But once you wake up, Miss Dorothy, I will show you that this is not the only way.   
And I do believe you will wake up. I believe in you, Miss Dorothy."  
  
Spirit Dorothy burst into tears. No one had ever said that they believed in her   
before.  
  
"You know who else believes in you? Rashid. Though it's kind of hard to   
tell right now. Blessed be Allah, I have never seen him that angry. Not even the time   
when he caught you sunbathing. And I didn't think he could ever get angrier than   
that."  
  
"When the doctor told us that you were in a coma, he went over to a window   
and leaned over the desk in front of it. At first, I didn't think he was listening, but then   
I realized he was mumbling something. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid', I believe. Who he   
was referring to, I don't know. Then when the doctor said 'she might not wake up', he   
slammed his fist down so hard against the desk that it cracked. He turned to the doctor   
and grabbed him and said 'She's going to wake up. And when she does, I'm going to   
be there to shake her head so hard it's going to knock every filling out of that beautiful   
little head of hers.' Quatre told him to stop and Rashid let go of the doctor. He let go   
of the doctor. Quatre demanded that he explain himself. Rashid just said real quietly   
to him, 'Why don't you ask your soul mate instead?' and left. I don't know why, but   
Master Quatre just blanched over that. Trowa was there and was going to go after him,   
but Master Quatre stopped him and said, 'No, let him be.'"  
  
Dorothy's breath caught.  
  
"Oh, God, he knows," she whispered. She was very surprised that Rashid   
would display that much emotion over her. He cared for her. A lot. The thought both   
frightened and excited Dorothy. But she was also upset over the fact that he knew   
about Quatre and Trowa. And that he didn't seem to be taking it too well.  
  
I wish Rashid was here for me to talk to, she thought. Her need for him   
surprised her. She never wanted to impulsively reach out for someone like that with   
the exception of her father. Odd, how she could feel the same way about a man she   
hardly knew as she about her father.  
  
Hassim leaned over the body and placed a kiss on its forehead.  
  
"Rest well. You'll need your strength, because when you wake up - we are   
going to dance the night away. No rest for you then."  
  
Spirit Dorothy smiled at the determination in his voice.  
  
  
  
It was night, completely dark with the exception of the sparkling starlight   
coming through the window. She heard him long before she could see him. When he   
first walked into the room, Dorothy mistook his footsteps for background noise, but   
then realized that the sounds were too defined to be background noise.  
  
His body blotted out the stars. Dorothy could feel her heart beat erratically.   
She could see his face briefly as he looked with concern over her now busy monitors.  
  
She could feel his hand touch hers as he clasped one of the body's hands.  
  
"It's all right, it's all right," he whispered. His voice calmed her and she   
could feel her heart go back to its smooth steady pattern. She could feel him squeeze   
her hand softly then attempt to let go as her heart beat went back to normal. She heard   
him gasp softly as she held her hand closed as tightly as she could.  
  
"It's all right," he whispered to her. She could feel a hand caress her cheek   
and linger there for several moments. "I'm not going anywhere. I can stay for as long   
as you like."  
  
She held his hand for a long, long time. When she took note of how long, she   
noticed that the eastern sky was slowly lightening and the starlight beginning to fade.  
  
He bent down to her body, his lips mere inches from hers.  
  
Dorothy could feel a small curl of warmth rise up from her belly.  
  
"I'm not going to kiss you," he whispered.  
  
Dorothy slowly began to uncurl her hand in disappointment. She felt him   
squeeze her hand again.  
  
"I want you to come to me and tell me that you want me to kiss you. I will   
not fall in love with a dead woman, Dorothy. If you feel this attraction, this need to be   
together, then you will wake up and tell it to my face. I'm not going to let you hide   
behind this. Either you will get and walk among the living, come to me and take my   
hand or you will walk the ways of the dead - the decision is your, Dorothy."  
  
He let go over her hand, stood up and watched her for a few moments longer.   
The sky was a brilliant rose gold by then. Dorothy could see Rashid's intense gaze   
bore into the body that lay on the bed. He then turned and left the room.  
  
Dorothy walked over and looked at her body in the bed.  
  
What a pale waxen doll I've become, she thought as she looked at the still   
form. She leaned closer and closer. What did Rashid see in her, or even Hassim and   
Fatima for that matter? What had they seen in her that she could not?  
  
Dorothy sighed.  
  
Well, just going to have to find out what, aren't I?  
  
Dorothy launched herself forward towards her body. Down, down, and down   
she fell.  
  
She could hear her father whisper to her, "Is this what you really want?"  
  
Doubt filled Dorothy.  
  
"I'm not sure, Papa, but it seems like a good place to start to find out what I   
want, isn't it?"  
  
She could feel her father smile.  
  
"Yes, Dorotea, it is. I will always be here when you need me."  
  
The voice fell silent, but Dorothy did not feel the sense of loss like she had   
before. All she had to do was reach out with her mind and she could feel her father's   
comforting presence. She smiled, turned and began to walk through the grayness.  
  
It seemed like she walked for a very long time, but eventually she did find the   
little door to go through.  
  
The sun blinded her and her eyes teared up. A figure stood over her and   
clasped her hand tightly. She could sense both impatience and delight in his stance.  
  
"Hello world," she thought.  
  
"Quatre, dear, you can let go of the death grip you have on my hand," she   
whispered.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hi Everyone. I like to thank everyone that reviewed my story. Thank you, thank you,   
thank you. Your reviews really do make me want to write more and more about   
Dorothy and Rashid. As for when the next part might be out, I'm really not sure. Ever   
had one of those weeks were you wake up and it all seems like it's hitting the fan? I'm   
currently looking for a new job because I don't have a lot of confidence in being able   
to keep my current one for much longer. And other things. So I figure once I'm over   
the shock and some sense of direction again, I can start up on the last half of the   
chapter, which will be from Rashid's point of view again. Thanks again for the   
reviews. BTW, I couldn't seem to remember what the name of the little village/train   
stop was when I visited Wengen. From looking at a map, I'm guessing that it was   
Lauterbrunnen. However, if anyone might have the correct info, I'd really appreciate   
it.  



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